One Sacrifice Too Many
by r4ven3
Summary: I thought it's about time I revisited pre-Cotterdam, and created an alternative to the canon option. This is a fic of 13 chapters, with a slightly different slant on the events of 5.5 and onwards. I have also taken some liberties with the time line, and the appearances (and disappearances) of certain characters.
1. Chapter 1

Friday 4th August 2006 - early evening:

Hearing a knock on his office door, Harry Pearce knows he's about to be the receiver of bad news. He looks up to see Ros Myers entering his private domain. Only Ros and Ruth are in the habit of entering without being invited, so Ros's uncharacteristic knocking already has him on edge.

"I only want good news, Ros," he says curtly, glancing back to the pile of reports sitting on one end of his desk - nagging him, while not yet demanding his full attention.

"And I only want a month on the south coast of France with a wealthy Frenchman, but alas, that is not to be my destiny."

Harry glances up at Ros, who has already sat herself on the chair across his desk. Her sarcasm is not a good sign, although it's preferable to her giving him a thorough bollocking. It is almost two weeks since Havensworth, and the memory of Ros's dressing down of him still smarts. Ruth had assured him it wasn't his fault, but he's sure it is. Most things are.

"So," he says calmly, "what brings you calling at this hour?"

Ros lifts her left wrist, and since she never wears a watch, she pretends to read the time. She sits back in her chair and offers him a long stare before speaking. "It's almost seven, and most people are home from work, and there were four more parcel bombs delivered this afternoon."

Harry flops back in his chair, sighing heavily. "That makes eleven. I was hoping that the original seven was all they had."

"Two were in Greater London, while the other two were in small towns in Essex."

"Demographic?"

"All men, and all are white, and employed."

Again Harry sighs. "And?"

"And what?"

"Injuries?"

"Minor burns to three, while the fourth unfortunately lost two fingers on his right hand, while his partner sustained minor burns to his chin. It appears the partner was attempting to kiss him at the same time he opened the parcel."

Harry grimaces, his mouth firm. "Send Ruth in," he says, sitting up straight. "I need her ... unique take on this."

Lifting his eyes to Ros, Harry knows that Ros's lifted eyebrows are worth a thousand words. "Consider it done," Ros says, rising from the chair, and leaving the office.

Harry had no sooner begun to check his email that morning when he'd received a call from a Chief Inspector in the counter-terrorism department of the Metropolitan Police, pleading for help from counter-terrorism in Mi5. The man had given a brief account of how parcel bombs - non-lethal, but able to cause minor injuries to anyone opening them - had been delivered to seven people scattered around the country. "We can't work out why those seven were chosen, and until we know, then we can't predict when, where or even _if_ there'll be more."

Of course there will be more, Harry had thought once the call had ended. It had been an unpleasant way for the day to begin, and he'd suspected then that the mailing of these bombs was meant as a curtain raiser to something bigger .. perhaps much bigger.

Harry's musings are interrupted by Ruth, who breezes through his doorway like the door doesn't exist, and never has existed. He considers shouting the word, `knock', but given she'd no doubt ignore him, he glances up at her and frowns. Ignoring his odd mood, Ruth places an A4 notepad on the corner of his desk. He glares at the notepad, and then at her.

"I just thought I'd bring some of my findings, Harry. I hope you don't mind, but one of my contacts in the Met rang me this morning, asking for my help with this parcel bombing thing."

"One of your _contacts_?"

"From my days with GCHQ. Kevin Strudwick."

"How is it you've never mentioned this before, Ruth?"

"You've never asked. He's an asset, Harry. I thought we were meant to cultivate assets."

She's right, of course. "Go on," he says, holding in his irritation with himself. If he's being honest, he had experienced a brief moment of jealousy at the mention of this mysterious, never-before-mentioned Kevin.

Ruth waits, watching him closely, having noticed that his frown has deepened. "I've known Kevin for years. He's slowly rising in the ranks in the Met, and he's been a useful contact."

Harry leans back in his chair, wondering for how long Ruth has possessed the superpower of being able to read his thoughts, because there are times - like now - when he's certain she can. Being honest with himself for a moment, as much as she fascinates him, beguiles him, hypnotises him, he is still annoyed with her for turning down his invitation to a second dinner. Her excuse had sounded to him like the kind of thing a woman says to a man when she wishes to let him down kindly; when she wants to say, `you're just not what I'm looking for in a man', but wishes to avoid having a lengthy and possibly heated discussion about it. He doesn't believe that Ruth had been put off by others knowing about them. Ruth is sociable and friendly, and while she's not always the most confident of women, he can't believe she'd be upset at the prospect of others' gossiping about them. Subjects of gossip change as frequently as the weather, and already he is sure that their colleagues have lost interest in the prospect of them being a couple. There has to be another reason, and he'd like to know what it is, because he is struggling to come to terms with her apparent change of heart.

Their one and only dinner together had been three weeks earlier, twenty-one days, almost to the minute. That she'd said yes to his invitation had surprised him then, and it still surprises him. That she'd turned up at the restaurant at the appointed time had filled him with hope. She'd been a bright and challenging, interesting dinner companion, and the taxi ride to her house afterwards had been filled with anticipation, especially once he'd asked her to again have dinner with him. When they'd reached her front door he'd kissed her cheek, and she'd turned towards him, smiling. The words, "Goodnight, Harry", had been softly spoken, and he'd detected interest in her eyes, so that he'd walked back to the taxi with a spring in his step.

Then, only days later, Ruth had sounded the death knell to anything ever developing between them, and he's not felt truly happy since.

"Harry? Are you listening?" He focuses his eyes on her, embarrassed to be caught daydreaming. "Are you alright?" she asks.

"Not really."

This time it is Ruth who frowns. "What is it?"

Again he sighs, his breath leaving him slowly. "This is neither the time nor the place for a conversation about my .. mood, Ruth." He watches as she drops her eyes. She knows, he thinks. She knows exactly why they can't talk about this now. It is not the right time. It is still too soon, and what's more, they have a potential crisis on their hands. "Tell me what you've found," he says at last, steeling himself to treating her as just another employee.

"Kevin Strudwick told me that the police had reached a dead end. They'd not been able to find anything connecting the recipients."

"I'd heard the same thing," Harry says quietly, keeping his warring emotions in check.

"I've engaged Malcolm's help with this, and the first thing he found was that all the parcels were delivered by the same courier company - The Daily Planet."

"Go on."

"When the recipients were interviewed by police, they mentioned the shape and size of the parcels - the size of a paperback novel - and thin enough to slide through the mail slots in doors."

"So none have seen the couriers?"

"No .. some have, but the couriers were delivering other parcels to other addresses, so clearly unaware there were bombs amongst their deliveries." Harry considers her conclusion, then files it away. It's more possible that the couriers and their vans are fakes - copies of the real thing. "The odd thing about the parcels is that while they were all the same size and shape, they were each packaged differently. Some were in manila packages, while other packages were white, and some were green."

"So we can't put out an announcement about the packages, other than to avoid opening packages shaped like a paperback."

"Which will upset the online booksellers."

Harry twists his mouth in a grimace. God forbid that the online booksellers would be inconvenienced. Are they not aware that this is a national emergency? Noticing Ruth watching him, perhaps waiting for him to catch up, he adds, "You have more," and Ruth nods.

"Malcolm and I have spent the best part of today on this, and we think - at least, _I_ think - that we may have made an important connection." She waits for a heartbeat, and Harry nods, his cue for her to continue. "The name of the courier company is significant, because ... and this is a giant leap to have made, but it's all we have. There's an agent in Mi6 who goes by the code name, Rogue Planet." Harry frowns. That certainly is a giant leap. "Malcolm did some investigating, and he discovered that the agent's name is Calvin Shadleigh."

Harry's frown deepens. That name rings a bell, but he can't remember from where. "Is there more to link this to Shadleigh, because using a code name with the word `planet' in it isn't quite enough."

"I know. Malcolm has ... dug up ... some memos which have passed between Shadleigh and a member of the executive of the intelligence service. These memos have been encoded, but Malcolm and his small team have been able to decipher them. The suggestion from the decoded messages is that while we - counter-terrorism - are occupied with small scale activities, we'll not see a larger threat looming."

"I'd expected the low-threat nature of the parcel bombing to be hiding something much more sinister. It's an old ploy, and one generally used by intelligence services around the world. While the population are kept busy being afraid of Threat A, they won't see Threat B until it hits."

"But .." Ruth begins, and Harry can see that she is continuing with caution, "it appears that it's our own who are attacking the people."

"I had worked that out, Ruth, but you haven't shared with me the name of the high ranking intelligence service person."

"I suppose I was hoping you'd be able to guess, especially since -"

And she is unable to finish her sentence. They are suddenly and noisily interrupted by Adam Carter, who, like the Ros and Ruth before him, barges into the office unannounced. "Harry," he says curtly, noticing Ruth's presence, but still undeterred, "I've just had an angry phone call from Justin Singh -"

"And who, pray tell, is Justin Singh?"

"He's the lawyer from West London who received one of this morning's parcel bombs. He's threatening to sue the intelligence service for not managing to intervene before these bombs were delivered to innocent members of the public."

"Tell him I'm in a meeting," Harry says with increasing irritation, "and why can't you deal with it?"

"He insists on speaking to you. He seems to know you by name."

" _God_ ," Harry says, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips. "Was he injured by the bomb?"

"Burns to four fingers on his right hand, which required a hospital visit, the result of which was he missed a whole morning in court."

"God forbid that he misses out on his exorbitant court appearance fee," Harry says, his words heavily laced with sarcasm. "Take his number, and tell him I'll get back to him within the hour. I'm in a meeting."

"Right," Adam says, quickly turning to leave the office.

Harry looks back to where Ruth sits, waiting for the interruption to be behind them. She flicks some invisible speck from her skirt before lifting her eyes to his. "You asked for the name of the intelligence executive who has been covertly communicating with Calvin Shadleigh."

"I did, Ruth."

"And I was hoping you'd guess the identity of this person, since -"

"Please don't tell me it's the Chairman of the JIC .." Harry watches Ruth from across his desk, and almost shudders when he detects a slight nod of her head.

"It's none other than your favourite person, Harry."

"Oliver Mace."

Ruth's nod is slight, and it's clear to him that she has dreaded having to be the bearer of the news.


	2. Chapter 2

Friday 4th August 2006 - evening:

Harry quickly deals with Justin Singh, promising him that progress is being made, and that perhaps he needs to examine any insurance policies he has in his name for clauses which cover the delivery of parcel bombs. That last detail had been delivered without humour or sarcasm, and the resounding silence at the other end of the phone had offered Harry the opportunity to end the call.

At 7.45 pm he calls a meeting of the member of his team still on the Grid. At eight o'clock, he is joined in the meeting room by Ros, Adam, Malcolm and Ruth.

"Zaf has a date, and Jo is visiting her parents," Ruth says quietly, providing excuses for the two absent members of the team, as she sits at Harry's right hand.

While Harry is pleased that she sits nearest him, he knows that their seating arrangement means nothing more to her than being one of convenience. Not for the first time in the last eighteen days, he feels saddened, deflated and defeated.

"I've had meetings with Ros and then Ruth about these parcel bombs, but I haven't heard from you, Malcolm," he begins. "I'm curious about the choice of victims. Can you shed any light?"

"I haven't had time to perform a search on the latest four victims," Malcolm begins carefully, aware of Harry's scratchiness, and mindful that in part it had been his own words, spoken in interest rather than a desire to gossip, that had led to the falling out between Harry and his analyst, and ultimately to Harry's prevailing mood. He is saddened that his few words spoken to Ruth had been so misunderstood by her, and had led to her turning away from Harry, a man who could do with having Ruth in his life in much the same way as she could benefit from being close to him. Malcolm just wishes they could put aside their pride to see how well they would work as a couple.

"Then tell us all you know about the original seven," Harry replies.

"There is no apparent connection between the recipients of the parcels. All but one are men. All but one are white. All but one are currently in employment. The one who is not working is a retired policeman from Leeds. There is no apparent .. pattern as such. But then I thought of digging deeper and examining their online purchasing activity, and I was just about to wrap it up when this meeting was called."

"Had you made any connections, Malcolm?" Adam asks, his tone conveying mild impatience.

"Yes. I was able to run all of this morning's seven parcel recipients through a search of their online purchases. They had all ordered from the same online bookshop during the past ten days."

"Bingo," breathes Adam.

"That's good work, Malcolm," Harry says, his mood having suddenly lifted. "But did all seven of this morning's victims order small paperback novels online?"

Malcolm nods. "Every one of them."

"Even Justin Singh?"

Malcolm drops is eyes to the pages in front of him, running his forefinger down a list. "Justin Singh ordered _"Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep"_ , by Philip Dick. It's a small novel of only 200 pages, and I .. believe it formed the inspiration for the movie, _Bladerunner_." Other than the slightest of smiles from Ruth, Malcolm sees no response from the others, so he quickly continues. " All this morning's victims had ordered small, thin novels, all from the same British based bookshop."

"Around the size of the parcel bombs."

"Yes," replies Malcolm. "The ... sender of the bombs had done their homework. But I need to tell you that I can't take total credit for this," he adds quietly. "The search was Ruth's idea."

Harry turns his eyes towards Ruth, and immediately notices the deepening blush on her cheeks, as she attempts to avoid eye contact with those at the table. "Malcolm did the search in record time," she explains quickly. "I would have taken all night. I just thought that ... given the parcels were all in the shape of a book, and everyone who received a bomb opened theirs without hesitation ... it seemed the logical place to begin."

"And it's possible that Calvin Shadleigh has access to a similar search facility," Harry adds, still looking at Ruth, willing her to look at him.

"Shadleigh?" Adam says. "Who mentioned Cal Shadleigh? He's trouble."

Harry had overlooked the possibility that others in his team may have come across Shadleigh, but the Mi6 agent is not his immediate priority. "Malcolm, can you stay back for an hour or so?"

Malcolm nods. "I just need to call my mother, and my neighbour, who looks in on Mother from time to time. You want me to do a deeper search of the online bookshop." When Harry nods, he continues with his thoughts. "I think we need to make a list of people living in this country who have purchased small novels during the past ten days."

"That could be hundreds," Adam declares.

"More like thousands," Ros adds.

"Harry ..." Ruth ventures, and her hand moves fractionally towards where Harry's hand rests on the table top, before she stops, perhaps remembering that she has already said no to this man. She can't be touching him. It wouldn't be fair.

Harry had noticed the slight movement of her hand, and to save her further embarrassment, he moves his hand to clasp the fingers of his other hand. "What is it?" he says, trying hard to hide the emotion which burns in his throat and tightens his chest.

"By the time Malcolm has created a list of further possible victims - and Ros is right, there may be thousands," she says carefully, "shouldn't we just broadcast a warning? The early morning news services seems like a good place to begin. Were we to try contacting all the possible victims, I suspect that ... whoever is behind this will be ready to escalate their attack."

With the greatest effort, Harry takes his eyes from her. She's right. Were the perpetrators of this cowardly act to predict what Section D would do next, then warning the next possible pool of victims would be high on their list of probable actions. "So, what do you suggest, Ruth?"

Ruth has already dropped her eyes, something Harry knows she does when she's thinking. When she again lifts her gaze, her eyes find him, and as much as he'd like to break eye contact with her, he can't. He stares at her, forgetting that he'd asked her a question. When he feels a ripple of discomfort from the others sitting at the table, he speaks. "Ruth?"

"I think that we should put out a warning in the early morning news bulletins, and then I suggest that we wait."

Wait? Harry thinks that's a terrible idea. "Adam? Ros? What do you think?"

"I think it's a good idea," Adam says, clearly tired of sitting in one spot for too long.

"I'd like to chase up Shadleigh," Ros says. "If he's a suspect, one of us needs to find him, and poke him a little, just to see if he bites."

"I'll come with you," Adam says quickly, "I know the little shit. He's former CIA."

All four pairs of eyes turn to Adam. "How do you know that?" Harry asks.

"I was with Six when he arrived, all fresh from being `let go' from the CIA," and he puts air quotes around the words, `let go'. "The charge was gross insubordination, but I think all he did was shag his section leader's wife ... as well as the man's mistress."

"You're making that up," Harry says.

"I wish I was. He also bragged about selling US secrets to Venezuela and Nicaragua, and a couple of other countries I've forgotten. I think Cuba may have been mentioned, but I thought he might have been exaggerating about that one."

"He sounds like a chancer," Malcolm says, the barest hint of admiration in his voice.

"He sounds like a loose cannon," Ros adds, and the others all nod, except Harry, who doesn't believe a word of it. He has no doubt that had the man been kicked out of the CIA, it's likely his crimes had been much worse than sleeping with his boss's wife, and even worse than selling state secrets He suspects Calvin Shadleigh has blood on his hands, and lots of it.

* * *

Harry is in his office, gathering together his personal possessions, as he prepares to leave for the day. There is a light knock on his door, and turning, he is surprised to see Ruth standing there, a lightweight coat slung over one arm, and her shoulder bag hooked over her other shoulder.

"I thought I'd go home, if that's alright, Harry. I don't want to miss the next bus."

His next words tumble from his lips without the benefit of planning or editing. "There's no need, Ruth. I'd be happy to take you home."

Very slowly and deliberately, Ruth shakes her head. "I can't possibly impose on you like that."

"I'm offering," he says quickly, "and it's not an imposition. I'm about to leave, so I'll drop you off on the way."

"But, it's -"

" _Ruth_." His voice is sharp, and he speaks her name too loudly, shocking himself along with her. "Just let me do this one thing ... for you. It's been a long day, and I'm offering you ... this." He is tired. He is fed up, and he wants to spend a few precious minutes with her ... alone. Even if they say nothing to one another for the whole car ride, just being alone in the car with her will be enough.

He watches her as she dips her head, and then lifts her eyes to his. "Very well," she says. "Maybe just this once."

* * *

The drive home is surprisingly comfortable, with their conversation flowing easily and quite naturally.

"Do you plan to do anything about Oliver Mace?" Ruth asks at last, and Harry suspects she's been sitting on that question for a couple of hours.

Harry waits before answering, contemplating the wisdom of running his thoughts by her. Only a few weeks ago he'd have not thought twice about confiding in her. "I've been giving it some thought," he says at last, considering that just because they no longer have a personal relationship, it's no reason to be shutting her out. "My preference is to wait until he approaches me."

"How sure are you that he will?"

Harry concentrates on negotiating an intersection before he answers her. "I've known Oliver a while, and I believe I know the kind of spy he is. He's self serving and extremely cunning. He thinks like a predatory animal, so were I to approach him, he'd immediately be on his guard, and he'd be scanning me, trying to determine my motivation for seeking him out. He's also incredibly curious, so were I to ignore him, he'd have to eventually make his presence known."

"You make him sound like a monster," Ruth says, and he detects the fear in her voice.

"He's not a monster, Ruth, but he is focused, determined, and not happy until all his needs are served. I'd say he's perfect management material." His last sentence is spoken with a smile, and Ruth turns to stare at him.

"I've only ever met him once," she says. "He looked right through me."

"You were lucky. Mostly he hits on the women he meets, with the intention of gaining an advantage over the men associated with them."

When Ruth doesn't say any more, Harry chances a glance at her. She has turned away from him, and is staring through the window on her side. "Is anything wrong?" he asks at last.

"I was thinking ..." she begins carefully, "that it's a good thing we're no longer ... seeing one another, otherwise he might use me to get at you."

Harry is sure that Oliver views him as small fry, but he's not yet prepared to admit to that. Ruth's words have provided an opening ... a rather small opening, but an opening all the same. "Ruth," he says quietly, as he turns into Ruth's street, "I'm not about to give up on you." He pulls up in front of her house, even more nervous than he was on the day he'd first asked her to have dinner with him. As the car rolls to a stop, Harry puts the car in neutral, and turns towards her. "I'm still hopeful ... about us."

He is surprised to find her looking his way, having made no move to leave his car. "I know you are," she says. "In fact, I'd be disappointed had you given up .. on us."

As much as he is pleased by her response, Harry is also confused. Only Ruth would say something so contrary, so obscure. "I haven't given up," he adds, staring through the windscreen at the streetlight outside the house next door but one from Ruth's house. "I suspect I'll never give up. It's not in my nature."

"I know," Ruth replies, turning to glance his way, before leaving his car, and crossing the pavement to her front gate.

Harry had planned to again walk her to her front door, but she'd beaten him to it. He watches her as she opens her front door, and disappears inside.

It has been a day of contrasts, but he considers it has ended on a note of optimism.

* * *

Saturday 5th August 2006 - morning:

Harry stands in his front hallway, checking that his tie is straight, when his mobile phone rings.

"Adam," he says, leaning closer to his hallway mirror to check his teeth, "what is it?" While it is Saturday morning, it is not even seven, and Adam is already at work.

"Bad news, I'm afraid," Adam says, and Harry feels his stomach drop.

"Tell me."

"There have been two more parcel bombs, both in London, and both delivered after hours last night."

"Is that usual?"

"I've no idea. The problem is that in both cases, a small child was left unattended with the parcels, and kids being kids, they each ripped open the package. One child - a girl, four years old - was blinded by the bomb, but the other child wasn't so lucky. He was younger - two or three - and his face took the brunt of the blast. This child is in hospital, and isn't expected to live."

" _Shit,_ " Harry says, not even trying to disguise his disgust. This is war, he thinks to himself. "I'll be on the Grid within the hour," he says aloud.


	3. Chapter 3

Saturday 5th August 2006 - 8.56 am:

Since Adam has been busy making phone calls, Harry has been hiding in his office, speed-reading the reports he'd not managed to get to the previous day. Finishing the reports is his main reason for returning to the Grid on a weekend, that and checking the latest intel on the parcel bombings. Even he knows that he can communicate with Adam from home, and he has no real need to even be on the Grid. There is a part of him hopes that Ruth will return to work for part of the day, although he's not expecting her.

He also needs time alone in his office, time in which to consider the way Ruth had reacted when he'd dropped her home the night before. He wonders does she expect him to ask her out again. If that is her plan, her expectation, then she has a nerve. Firstly, she'd enjoyed her one dinner with him, then she'd said, `no, we can't be doing this', and now she's saying she expects him to keep chasing her. Put like that, it sounds like a game, a game he's reluctant to play. Harry does not enjoy the thought that Ruth may be playing with him. In her eyes he is a man of power, and how better to boost her ego than to have him jumping when she says jump?

He needs to speak to her about this, and the sooner the better. He is not enjoying having his private thoughts hijacked by confusion over a woman in whom he is interested, and he is _very_ interested in Ruth. Is she who he'd believed her to be, or is she just another woman on a quest to bag herself a powerful man?

"Harry?" Adam stands in the open doorway. Harry had not heard him knock, if in fact he had knocked.

"Sit down, Adam," Harry replies, pointing to the chair opposite, but Adam enters the office, and remains standing. Harry sees tension in his body. "Have you managed to get in touch with Shadleigh?"

"What? Oh, yeah, I did. He was no use at all. I met him early this morning, and he claims no recent contact with Mace ... not for around a year, and then it was only electronic. According to him, Mace is bad news ... a man without a conscience."

"So, who's the person communicating with Mace?"

"I asked that of Shadleigh, but he can't answer that, either. He's been out of the country for the past two months, and he only arrived back in London the night before last." Adam looks around, glancing through the large window to the Grid floor. When he turns back to Harry, it is clear he has something else on his mind. "Look, Harry .. something has happened .. something unexpected. Whoever is behind this has just upped the ante. Another parcel has been delivered .. this morning, and this time it was sent to one of ours."

"One of _ours_? Who?"

Harry waits while Adam looks around the office, quickly glancing from floor to back wall, to the desktop, all the while avoiding Harry's eyes. Harry is about to say something more when Adam at last focuses on his boss. "It's ... Ruth. She -"

" _Ruth_?" Harry is unaware of having stood up, but as he'd spoken the name of the woman who has been occupying his thoughts far too much, he finds that he is standing. Partly to save face, Harry walks around his desk to stand closer to Adam. He points to the sofa, indicating they should both sit there. "Tell me everything," he says, once he and Adam are both seated.

"I've sent a car for her -"

"Perhaps if you begin at the beginning," Harry says, apparently much calmer, while his insides are churning, his gut a maelstrom of emotion.

"A book-shaped parcel," Adam begins, "was on her mat when she got up - at seven or so. She was intending to come into work, but she took the parcel into her kitchen, looked at both sides, to find no indication of where it was from. It was addressed to her, and the address was correct. She knew not to open it."

"Of course. And?" Harry is eager for further information.

"That's about it. At about eight she rang Malcolm, who rang me, and I came straight into work."

"Where is she now?" _And why hadn't she rung him?_

"I rang Quentin from the bomb squad, and he offered to drive by and pick up the parcel directly from Ruth's house. He'll return to work, and give it the once over. It's the first opportunity he's had to examine one of these things intact. He seems to already be familiar with the kind of technology being used."

"Where is Ruth now, Adam?"

"Hopefully on her way. I sent a car for her, remember?"

He had forgotten. Harry's mind is a mess. He hasn't felt this compromised since they'd suspected his daughter of being a member of the pro-Israeli group, the November Committee. Harry lifts his hands to cover his face before pulling his fingers down his face to his chin. "I think ... I now know what this is about," he says quietly. He turns to Adam, looking his section chief squarely in the eye, "and as much as I'd rather a proper drink right now, even I consider it too early for alcohol."

"I'll make us each a coffee," Adam says, getting up quickly, and leaving the office.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Harry and Adam are sitting on chairs, both on the same side of Harry's desk. Their coffees, barely touched, sit on the desk, close to their elbows.

"I want to tell you this, and hopefully before Ruth arrives. I'm sure she has no idea, but she has to know eventually, and I need to be the one to tell her."

When Adam nods, Harry launches into the story of how, a little over a month earlier, Oliver Mace had taken Harry aside in an attempt to convince him of the wisdom of using extreme methods of torture on terror suspects.

"I resisted, of course," Harry explains. "There are procedures in place, none of which allows for torture. Knowing how skilled Oliver is at getting his own way, I was worried, and so I confided in Ruth, and in a moment of ... inattention, I gave her the all clear to write a report on what I'd told her .. for our records, chiefly for future-proofing. I filed one copy away here, in my desk, and I must have slid the other copy into a file which then found its way to the Home Office.

Next thing I know, Mace is on the phone to me, giving me a bollocking about his wishes for harsher measures when dealing with suspected terrorists being openly debated in Parliament. Although his name hadn't been mentioned, almost everyone would have known who it was pushing to have policy ... lossened."

"Jesus," Adam breathes, before grabbing his coffee mug and taking a gulp, "that's -"

"It's unfortunate, to say the least," Harry finishes for Adam.

"Was Ruth's name mentioned in Parliament?"

"Not her name, no, just that the senior intelligence analyst in Mi5 had written the report, after learning the information from her section head. Neither of our names were mentioned, but it's not difficult to make educated guesses as to our identities."

"And so Oliver Mace wants Ruth eliminated," Adam says quietly.

"Perhaps not eliminated, although we'll not know that until the parcel bomb she received is examined."

"So, is it fair to say that thirteen people received non-lethal bombs in the post as a curtain raiser to sending one to Ruth? Isn't that a mark of insanity?"

"We're talking about the chairman of the JIC here, Adam. He operates according to his own rules."

"And I'll bet we can't trace any of these bombs back to him, either," Adam adds.

Harry nods his agreement, wating a moment, formulating his assessment. "I suspect that, now his agenda is clear, the general public will not receive any more unwanted parcels."

"I think you're right."

As Adam speaks, Harry's attention is caught by someone standing in the partially opened doorway. "Good morning Harry, Adam. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Harry stands to meet her. "Ruth, are you alright?"

"I'm fine. What's happening here?" she asks. "It looks like you're plotting something." Harry notices that Ruth is smiling, but her smile is wary, perhaps even forced.

Adam quickly stands, grabbing his coffee mug in one hand. "It's good to see you in one piece, Ruth," he says. "We have to talk, but first, I think Harry has something to tell you," and he quickly leaves the office.

"You have something to tell me?" she asks, crossing the office to sit in the chair vacated by Adam.

Harry's gut is still churning, but this time his fear is for himself.

* * *

Harry watches Ruth shaking her head. She has taken her eyes from his, and is staring at the wall behind his desk. He has just told her the reason she'd been targeted by the parcel bomber.

"But," she says at last, "why hadn't you told me any of this?"

He sighs before speaking. At least she's doesn't seem angry .. just confused. "I had no idea the report had been in the folder I took to the Home Secretary. And by the time I realised my mistake, the report had already been discussed in Parliament."

"You still haven't said why you omitted to tell me."

He can't give her eye contact. He is annoyed with himself - annoyed and embarrassed. "I can't say for sure, but I imagine I was attempting to ... protect you, Ruth."

Ruth drops her eyes, and Harry sees a slight shaking of her head. "I'm not some little woman who needs looking after, Harry -"

"I know that."

She lifts her eyes to his, and he sees the fire in them. "You should have told me about this when it happened. You know I don't follow Parliamentary sessions. Were I to have more spare time I probably would, but -"

"Ruth, I'm sorry. I wasn't aiming to deceive you. I genuinely thought it best if you didn't know you'd been talked about in a session of parliament, especially after .." and Harry decided that now is not the time to be dredging up their recent history. When will be that time, he has no idea.

"I thought you told me our names hadn't been mentioned."

"I did, yes, but it wouldn't have been difficult to discover our identities." Harry watches while Ruth's fingers fiddle with a button on her cardigan. He notices that she is dressed quite casually for a day on the Grid. "I also need to tell you that Mace has risked everything to set this up."

" _Mace_ has risked everything! My life has been put at risk."

"I know that, Ruth. What I'm saying is that he's unlikely to stop until he's ... silenced you, or frightened you into resigning. Oliver considers vengeance to be a virtue."

This time Ruth holds his gaze, and he is sure he sees tears in her eyes, but he'll never know, because suddenly she drops her head, and begins fiddling with the waistband of her cardigan. "I can't go home, then, can I?" she says quietly.

'No, you can't, at least not for a few days. Maybe a week. I suggest you move into Adam's apartment. I believe he has a spare room, and his security is sound."

"What about a safe house?"

Harry sighs. He'd much rather she be in Adam's apartment. "There's only one currently available, and it's a bit too far away from here. I haven't yet run this by Adam, but I believe that you'll be safer in his apartment, with he and Jenny and Wes. No-one would think to look for you there."

Ruth nods, and to Harry's trained eyes she appears defeated.

"You need to go there today," he says. "Adam has mentioned in passing that Jenny's room is free." He watches her for a long moment as she absorbs the deeper meaning ... that Jenny and Adam are sharing a bedroom.

"But I only have what I'm wearing. I haven't even a change of underwear," and with the word, `underwear', Ruth blushes, realising she'd spoken the word aloud.

"We'll sort something out, Ruth."

"I feel like such a nuisance," she says, and he notices her biting her bottom lip.

Harry feels so much for her in that moment that he begins to reach out to place his hand on hers, but some deep-seated sense of self-preservation has him withdrawing his hand, and placing it back on his knee.

At that moment there is a light tap on the office door, and Adam carefully enters. "Everything okay?" he asks, glancing from Ruth to Harry, and then back again. When both nod, he crosses the floor, and leans his angular frame against the edge of Harry's desk. "I'd sit in your chair, Harry, but you'd probably have me exiled," he says with a smile.

"To the farthest reaches of the universe," Harry replies.

"I've just heard from Quentin ... from the bomb squad. He, er ... he thinks Ruth should go into hiding, and today."

"Harry says I should stay in your apartment ... in Jenny's room."

"Good, good," Adam says cheerily. "Wes'll be rapt, and Jenny will be happy to have another woman to talk about ... whatever it is you women talk about." When neither Ruth nor Harry reply, his expression changes. "What Quentin told me is not good." Adam hesitates, looking from Harry to Ruth, and then back to Harry, who lifts his eyebrows in an expression Adam knows conveys his impatience. "Do you want the short answer or the long answer?"

" _Short._ Dear God, the bloody short answer, Adam, and some time soon would suit," Harry says with rising irritation.

"Right," Adam says, crossing his arms over his chest. "The parcel delivered to your house this morning, Ruth, was around five to seven times as potent as the other bombs which caused minor injuries ... other than to those poor little kids, of course. It was enough to cause serious injury, and had you opened it close to your face, it would most likely have been lethal."

Both Ruth and Harry take a long moment to consider what Adam has just told them, but it is Ruth who speaks first. "Then ... why send the bomb to me after the other parcel bombs had gone out? Knowing what to look for, I knew that what came through my mail box was likely to hurt me were I to open it."

Harry speaks up. "Mace wouldn't have expected you to open it. I suspect that his idea was to scare you, and to convey to us all that you are the intended target." This time Harry reaches out to grasp Ruth's hand. "I've tried contacting Oliver, but he's out of his office. No surprise there."

"Until it's time to go home, or until you need to leave, Adam, I need to work. I can't spend my life wrapped in cotton wool."

Harry squeezes Ruth's hand, then drops it back in her lap. "Would you like to do some deep searching into your supposed attacker, Ruth, because we don't know for certain he is the one who has targeted you? I'm sure, given time, you can dig up some more dirt on him."

For the first time since she'd arrived, Ruth smiles, and her smile is natural and spontaneous. "When can I begin?"


	4. Chapter 4

Thursday 10th August 2006 - mid morning:

Ruth wears head phones, lost inside the translating Ros had given her. "To keep your mind off other things," Ros had explained obscurely, as she'd handed Ruth the mini disk of the meeting between an attache to the Chinese Ambassador and an unidentified English woman. The conversation enthralls her. It is part information sharing, part mutual admiration, part flirtation, and there are times when she can barely determine between the three. She'd spent the whole of Saturday examining any electronic traffic to and from the office of Oliver Mace, but she suspects any staff still working in his office to be sending messages via smoke signal or carrier pigeon. The traffic in and out of his office is only remarkable by its continuing prosaic nature; no odd codes, no trigger words. The electronic traffic to and from Mace's office is just as it should be.

Glancing up towards Harry's office, something she has been doing for longer than she cares to admit, even to herself, she notices Harry, Ros and Adam engaged in a heated conversation. If only she could lip read. Harry is clearly upset about something, and Adam is trying to calm him, while Ros appears mostly unmoved. Ruth would quite like to be a fly on the wall of Harry's office.

"How are things at Camp Carter?" Zaf's cheery voice from behind her startles Ruth, so that she jumps. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

Ruth turns, and looks up into Zaf's dark eyes, his smile softening his features. "I was just wondering what they're up to," she says, glancing towards Harry's office.

"Terribly important things which are galaxies beyond my pay scale," Zaf replies cheekily. "My guess is that Oliver Mace has skipped the country."

"Seriously?"

"I wouldn't know, but to get Harry that worked up, it would have to be something like that. Six days since those parcel bombs went out, and Mace has still not returned to his office."

"Ros thinks he's hiding out in Europe somewhere."

"And Ros might be right," Zaf says. "And harking back to my opening question, what's it like living with Adam and Co?"

"It's alright, but I miss my house. I miss my solitude."

"You don't like them?"

"I didn't say that, Zaf. I'm not used to company."

"I can't stand being alone. That's why I'm happy to have Jo living under my roof."

"I heard someone say my name," Jo says, returning from the kitchen with a fresh cup of coffee.

"I was just telling Ruth what a wonderful living companion you are, Joanna," Zaf says, oozing charm.

"Oh, here comes trouble," Jo says, and when Ruth follows Jo's eyes she sees Ros Myers bearing down upon them.

"Ruth," Ros says curtly, "we need you in Harry's office ... _now_."

As annoyed as she is to have her translating interrupted, Ruth quickly follows Ros, while behind her she can feel two pairs of eyes burning into her back.

* * *

"Are you sure?" Ruth asks, and she quickly sits on the sofa beside Harry, leaving a safe distance between them. Both Ros and Adam remain on their feet.

"It's true," Harry says gently. "Jenny sent images to Adam's phone."

"Here," Adam says, opening his phone, and scrolling through his messages, until he reaches the three picture messages from Jenny, before handing the phone to Ruth.

Ruth spends a long time looking at each image, and there is no mistaking it. It's another parcel bomb, and again her name has been typed onto a sticker, along with the address of Adam's apartment. "Where's Wes?" she asks, looking up at Adam.

"He's at school, Ruth. I've asked Fiona's mum to pick him up after school today, and to keep him at hers for a few days."

It is then that it becomes too much for Ruth. Despite her need to be cool and detached, she just can't help it. The tears roll down her cheeks. "Adam, Ros, perhaps if you leave us alone for a moment," Harry says gently, and once the two of them leave the office he turns his attention to Ruth.

Her eyes are cast downwards, while she wipes her eyes and cheeks with her fingers. She feels Harry push some tissues into her hand, and it is only then that she lifts her gaze to him, to see kindness there. She almost begins crying all over again, but she uses the tissues to dry her eyes and her face.

"Thanks," she says after a while. "I feel a bit silly." Ruth is surprised when Harry slides across the sofa until he is close enough for her to feel the warmth from his body. It is when he reaches out to grasp her free hand that she turns to look at him. "Thank you," she says quietly, squeezing the hand holding hers.

"For what?"

"For caring. For being here."

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else, Ruth."

Ruth is suddenly aware that they are sitting just beneath the large picture window, and anyone on the Grid who looks their way can see them - the two of them sitting close beside one another on the sofa. In that moment Ruth sees that what others can see, and what they may make of what they see is really none of her business. It doesn't matter, and it never did. What they are is what they are. She has only ever pushed Harry away because she suspected he was looking for a quick fling with a younger woman - another notch on his bedpost - but it's becoming clear to her that he genuinely cares for her. "I'll have to go away ... won't I? I'm in danger here, and I'll only put others in danger were I to stay."

Harry nods, and Ruth can see the sadness there. "I argued tooth and nail for you to remain here, but they're right. Right now, you'll not be free or safe were you to stay anywhere in London, or .. " Ruth nods, looking into his eyes, hoping she is managing to convey to him her thanks, her gratitude, and even something so much deeper and more personal than that. "I even offered to go with you, but the two of us together would be like ..."

"... sitting ducks," she says, and Harry nods. "I'll have to leave the country ... won't I?" Again Harry nods, and she can see by his expression that's he's as distressed as she is. "When do I leave?"

"As soon as possible. We're aiming for Sunday evening, or early Monday morning."

"That soon?"

Again Harry nods. "I need you to know that I don't want you to go at all, but I'm also heavily invested in you remaining alive."

Ruth feels herself again teetering on the edge of tears, so she drops her head staring unseeing at the carpet. No sooner has she broken eye contact with him than she feels Harry's arm slide around her, and he draws her head to rest on his shoulder. Ruth finds herself relaxing just a little, and beneath her cheek Harry feels strong and solid and dependable, and in that moment Ruth regrets having turned down his second dinner invitation. She just hopes that one day soon she'll be free to tell him so.

* * *

The details surrounding Ruth's departure are being dealt with quickly and quietly. After she retires to her bedroom for the night, a tiny, tucked away room at the end of the corridor, Ruth can hear Adam talking on the phone to Zaf, and sometimes to Ros, or Harry. On Sunday morning Ruth is woken by a light tapping on her bedroom door. Forgetting for a moment that Wes is with his grandparents, Ruth hurries to her door to open it to find Adam, dressed and ready for the day, his phone in his hand.

"I've just rung Harry to tell him, and he says I should tell you. A light plane has been booked for early Tuesday morning. It leaves from a military airfield just outside London."

So it's happening. It's real. This is her life. Ruth nods, and says a quiet `thanks' before closing the door, leaving Adam standing outside in the corridor. She climbs back into bed and pulls the duvet over her head. She doesn't want to cry, but she can't help it. It's the shock, the reality of what is about to happen to her, and it's happening to _her_ this time, and not to someone else. This is not Zoe Reynolds being sent away for ten years, this is Ruth Evershed - loyal, clever, reliable Ruth. This is the woman who hadn't been able to see that the man who had been pursuing her quietly for months has been the very same man she wants and needs.

And what about the details of her leaving? She hadn't wanted Adam to tell her any more about the how or the when or the why of her leaving. She is going, and that is final. She'd written a report on Harry's findings about Oliver Mace, and by accident this report had - somehow - found its way into a session of parliament. Harry had made a mistake - a small mistake which had ballooned into something disastrous, and who hasn't made one of those at least once in their lives? Ruth doesn't blame Harry, but she wishes he'd been more careful with that report.

It's true ... she's leaving.

She's leaving a job she loves. She's leaving colleagues, some of whom she likes a lot, some of whom she fears a little, all of whom she respects and admires, and one of whom she has grown to love. It's such an irony that it has taken the prospect of her leaving London, her life, her job, her friends and colleagues, for her to realise she loves Harry, and most of all, having had that realisation, she doesn't want to leave him.

In two short days she's leaving, and she doesn't know for how long. She doesn't want to go, but she must, and so in the face of such uncertainty she'll be strong. She'll say goodbye, and she'll smile into their eyes. Perhaps it will be months before she returns, perhaps only weeks. She has to accept that it may be years, and if so, who will she be when she returns to London?

* * *

Monday 14th August 2006:

Ruth has asked they not make a fuss, but Jo has arranged a special morning tea, with croissants and fairy cakes. The food is arranged on Jo's desk, and everyone stands around, pretending to be positive in the face of another loss. Malcolm hovers nearby, and so Ruth stands beside him, knowing he'll field any awkward questions others might throw at her. Ruth hasn't much of an appetite, so she holds her tea cup between her hands, sipping from it slowly. Occasionally she glances up at the man standing across from her, and each time she does, he is watching her, and while his eyes convey deep sadness, Ruth knows him well enough to be able to read the apology in his expression.

"Maybe you'll return to us with a husband in tow, Ruth," Zaf says.

"Shut up, Zaf," Jo says, digging an elbow into his ribs, "not every woman in the world wants or even needs a man."

"So long as she comes back soon, eh?" Zaf says, not deterred.

Ruth has planned to leave the Grid at five o'clock, so she is relieved that at four-thirty Harry is alone in his office. She slides through the doorway without knocking, and when he glances up to see it is her, his irritation soon softens into a tired welcome.

"Come in, Ruth," he says, standing and leading her to the sofa. Perhaps unwisely, given the veiled interest of their colleagues, he closes the blinds before hitching the legs of his trousers and sitting on the sofa beside her. "Are you all ready to go?" he asks, perhaps too cheerily.

Ruth nods. "My bag is almost packed, but I'm not sure I'm ready."

He nods, understanding. "Were there any alternative, any other way of handling this, Ruth -"

"I know that, and I know you don't want me leaving."

"You're right. I'd do almost anything to keep you here."

Neither knows what to say next, so Harry addresses the practical. "I've had Malcolm on Mace Watch, and he's sure the man is hiding out in rented accommodation in a village in the Midlands."

"So, who is the person sending these parcels?"

"He has many people on his staff, Ruth, and he prefers it when others owe him. Such people will do almost anything to get themselves off his hit list. It's clear someone has been watching you, so we're being very careful about how and when you leave." Harry looks around the office, and then back at her, and Ruth still reads sadness there. "Oliver knows that when he returns to London he will have to face the music, so I don't expect him back any time soon."

Ruth, in a moment of inattention, reaches out to place a hand on Harry's knee. When his eyes drop to her hand she is about to remove it, when he covers her hand with his. "It doesn't seem fair," she says.

"Of course it's not fair. I'm working on a way to get him back here, or at the very least, of having him arrested, but it seems Oliver is useful to too many people. I'm in the minority, Ruth."

"What do you mean?"

"Most of the JIC agree with his suggestion about how we treat terror suspects. Most people in power don't even consider them to be human. The MPs have to be seen to be outraged by his suggestions, but privately, most of them agree with him. Having said that, I'm told there are a small group of MPs who are privately talking about forcing Mace back to London."

Sobered, they sit in silence for a long time, her hand on his knee, while his hand covers hers. It is the most intimate moment they have shared, and it may be their last, but neither is prepared to mention it.

"I have to go soon," she says at last.

"I know you do."

Ruth lifts her eyes to his to see that he has steeled himself for her leaving, so it's best she leave - quickly, and without looking back.


	5. Chapter 5

Monday 14th August 2006 - late evening:

Harry needs to turn in, but he doesn't want to. Having poured himself a generous measure of single malt whiskey, he sits in his favourite armchair, sipping his drink and feeling sorry for himself. Over the last few days, and especially that day, Ruth has made it clear that she has had a change of heart towards him .. towards _them_. How true to his usual run of luck has it been that it has taken her having to suddenly leave London for her to see him in a new light. Sitting with her on the sofa in his office, holding her hand, silently begging her to not leave quite yet, while Ruth had sat close to him, putting off her moment of leaving ... it had been a tragedy in the making. How like him to fall for the one woman who is to be forever unavailable to him.

And he's not convinced she'll be back in mere weeks, or even months. The only silver lining to Ruth's departure is that she is being declared on extended leave, so they haven't had to fake her death. There's something so final about a death, even a faked one. She has a legend. Malcolm had let it slip that she'll be travelling as Louisa Ramsay, and that her initial destination is to be Amsterdam. After that, no-one knows, not even Ruth.

Harry swallows the last of the whiskey, before taking his glass to the kitchen. It's best he head to bed, so that hopefully by the time he wakes Ruth will have left England. While standing at the sink rinsing his glass, he hears a noise from the back garden, a rustling of vegetation, followed by footsteps on the path. Someone is out there. He pulls aside the curtain to see a shadow move from the path to the back door.

And then he hears the knock ... more a gentle, tentative tapping on the door. "Harry? Are you in there?"

He leaves his glass in the sink, and hurries to the door. Ruth stands there, a holdall in her hand. "Ruth," he says.

She lifts dark eyes to his. "Can I come in?"

* * *

She had asked for a hot chocolate, so he'd rifled through his cupboards in search of a tin of chocolate powder, so that they now sit across from one another at his kitchen table. There is less than thirty minutes until midnight, and he supposes only a few hours until she has to leave. Rather than think about her imminent departure, Harry is considering all the many reasons Ruth may have for turning up at his back door with her bag. Knowing Ruth, she'll tell him soon enough.

And she does.

"I suppose you're wondering what I'm doing here," she says, having drained the last of her hot chocolate from her mug.

"It had crossed my mind, yes."

"I ... didn't want to leave without saying some things which ... I need to say to you." Harry watches her closely, hoping this isn't bad news. Given she appears to be in his house for the night, or what little remains of the night, he expects she is not about to deliver bad news ... other than her leaving of London is still about to happen. "I hadn't allowed myself to think of you as a ... potential love interest. I'd been so focused on what people might be saying about me, and about you behind our backs. Deep down I thought that maybe you didn't care for me at all, that you've been playing with me, and while worrying about all that, I'd overlooked the reality of what was actually happening between us, and then ... well ... here we are, and it's too late."

Harry waits for a long moment, but she is looking at him like she expects an answer from him, and yet he hasn't fully grasped what it is she is saying to him. "Are you saying that you wish we'd had that second dinner, Ruth?" When she nods he continues. "We will have time, but it won't be now. My plan is to ... wait for you."

"That's just it, you see," she says, and he is mesmerised by her eyes, as they hold his attention so that he daren't look away, "I don't expect you to live like a monk while I'm away."

"Ruth, apart from some rather lurid private thoughts about you, I have lived like a monk for more than two years now. Another few months is but the blink of an eye."

"What if it's not just a few months? What if I have to remain out of the country for years?"

He has asked himself the same thing, and his answer is always the same. Were she to not come home, he'd have to go looking for her, which he knows would be an impossible task. Harry and Adam have agreed that while Ruth is out of the country, he and Ruth should not be in contact. To do so is considered too risky. "I've given Zaf the job of keeping track of her," Adam had said just before leaving work that night. "Malcolm is providing safe phones for them both."

Harry had wondered why he also couldn't have a safe phone for contacting Ruth, but he also knows that in the following months his own electronic contact is likely to be monitored remotely, and by the same people in Mace's office who had organised the parcel bombs.

"Were you followed?" he asks, needing to change the subject.

"I'm almost sure I wasn't. Jo arrived at Adam's just before dark. She and Adam left soon after she arrived, only this time Jo was wearing a brunette wig, and my coat. I waited until she contacted me to say she and Adam had a tail before I left wearing Jo's pale blue hoodie with the hood up. Given Jo and I are around the same height and build, I'm confident we fooled anyone watching us. Adam and Zaf will pick me up from here in the morning, while Jo stays in my room at Adam's."

With those words Harry feels a ripple of excitement pass through his body. "You'll stay with me?" She nods. This time it is he who is lost for words.

"I'm assuming you have a spare room."

Harry waits, but she doesn't qualify her statement. "I have, but I'm sure you didn't go to the trouble of avoiding detection for the privilege of sleeping in my spare room."

"I didn't wish to make assumptions, Harry," she says quietly.

"What you're saying is that you're here tonight to sleep with me."

The air is heavy with all the many words which for so long have remained unsaid. Harry is not prepared to make assumptions about what she might mean by `spending the night'. He watches her while she watches him. They are each waiting for the other to make the first move.

"Is that what you want?" she asks at last.

"You know it is, but what's more important is, is that what _you_ want?" When she doesn't answer immediately, Harry begins to panic. If she's not wanting the same thing he wants, then why is she even here? He has also to consider that she may be here just to be with him, and nothing more. Perhaps, for Ruth, intimacy can wait until a more certain future stretches ahead of them, until she returns to London ... to him. "I'm not expecting intimacy tonight, Ruth. Were we to ... do that, then parting in the morning may be too difficult."

Surprisingly, Ruth smiles. "Do you always talk so much ... when you're hoping a woman wants to sleep with you?"

He stares across the table to where she sits, watching him closely, a smile still softening her eyes. "I usually say nothing at all, but I'm forever hopeful."

Ruth drops her eyes, and Harry suddenly stands. One of them has to make a move soon, before dawn breaks, and Ruth has to leave. "I'll show you the upstairs," he says, reaching towards her to take her hand.

* * *

"This is my office. I only use it when the walls of my office at work begin to close in on me," and then he leads her down the hallway to the spare room. "I'm afraid the bed's not made, but I can remedy that if you'd prefer to sleep in here." They take a few steps further down the hallway to a bathroom. "The guest bathroom," he says, "and through that next doorway is my room. There's an en suite bathroom through another doorway." He opens the door to his room, and turns on the light. It is a neat and sparse, functional room. "This is where I sleep," he says, and it's understood that sleeping is all he ever does in this room.

Harry then turns to face Ruth, whose eyes take in every detail of his room. "I need a shower, and to change for bed," he says quietly. "While I'm thus occupied, perhaps you can bring your bag upstairs, and choose which room you'd like. I'll respect your decision, Ruth." She is now holding his eyes, her own eyes large and dark. For a moment he considers kissing her, but he doesn't wish to unduly pressure her.

When Ruth smiles and nods, they part inside the doorway, he to enter his en suite bathroom, and Ruth to return downstairs for her overnight bag. Harry closes the connecting door behind him, hoping that when he again opens this door, Ruth will be somewhere on the other side.

* * *

After his shower Harry enters his bedroom to find Ruth already curled beneath the duvet, on the far side of his bed. He smiles, stepping close to the bed to remove his dressing gown, and toe off his slippers, before he sits on his side of the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of grey track bottoms, and a pale blue t shirt. "Are you sure about this?" he asks.

"I'm sure that I want to spend this night with you," she says, watching every move he makes, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. When he climbs into bed, he turns on his side to face her.

He is still none the wiser about whether they are to be just sleeping together, or more, but given that in the past few days she has lost control over her life in a way he can barely imagine, he'll leave her to make this decision alone. He's prepared to accept whatever she wants from this their first night together, so when Ruth reaches across from her side of the bed and cups his cheek with one hand, he is happy to lean closer so that she can kiss him. The kiss is gentle and brief, and she leans away, still watching him.

"What is it?" he asks.

"Should we do that again?"

"I'm all for that," he replies, but this time he is the one who leans over her, and places his mouth over hers. Her lips are soft and plump beneath his, and the kiss lasts a long time, while never tipping into passion. He is gentle and careful with her, as he knows he must be. This is Ruth, and in matters of the heart she is skittish as a filly.

When he pulls away, Ruth smiles. "Thank you," she says quietly.

"For what?"

"For not pushing me. I need time in which to ... adjust to this."

"But time is something we don't have."

She nods. "I know," and with that, Ruth sits up and kisses him again, winding both her arms around his neck. Beneath the duvet, Harry's hands find her hips, but he resists a powerful urge to pull her against him. Hopefully when she returns to him, in a few weeks or months, they can explore this further. For now, this will have to be enough. "Goodnight, Harry," she says once the kiss ends.

Once he turns off the lamp on his side of the bed, they nestle on their sides, facing one another. This, their first night spent together, will hopefully not be their last.

* * *

Harry is woken by a noise from downstairs. On opening his eyes, he looks around to see he is alone in his bed. He reaches one hand over to feel that the mattress beside him is still warm. Ruth must have just left the bed. He leans over her side of the bed to see her clothes draped over the chair. She has not left him, not yet.

The night is mild, so he heads downstairs barefoot, with his dressing gown open down the front. He finds Ruth sitting at the kitchen table, a mug of something hot on the table in front of her. She is wearing his spare dressing gown, the one he'd hung on the back of the bedroom door. She glances up as he enters the room, and he is surprised to see fear in her eyes. She looks terribly young, too young to be travelling around Europe alone. Not for the first time, he wishes he'd decided to go with her.

"You're not leaving yet, surely," he says, standing at the counter to make himself a mug of tea.

"I couldn't sleep. Sorry if I woke you."

"I was worried you were leaving."

Ruth nods as he sits across the corner of the table from her. They have been sleeping in the same bed, their bodies close, and he wishes for that closeness to continue. Harry reaches out with one hand, and is relieved when Ruth grasps it in her own. He laces his fingers through hers. They are holding hands while sharing an early morning drink in his kitchen. He can't remember the last time he'd been thus occupied.

"I've arranged for Malcolm to have your cats," he says, knowing that the mundane will have to do for now.

"What about my house? I can't just leave it unoccupied."

He watches her closely, hoping she's not intimidated by his scrutiny. In this moment he is no longer her boss; he is so much more. "I thought we'd use it for short term rental ... for agents who need to keep low for a few days. I'll make sure it's cleaned regularly, so that when you come home ..."

He watches her while her eyes widen, and the fear returns. "What if I can never come home? What then, Harry?"

"I'm sure you'll outlive Oliver, Ruth."

She drops her eyes to her mug, now empty, and Harry knows that this is the moment when he needs to act. He grips her hand tighter, so that she looks up at him. "Come back to bed, Ruth," is all he says, but they both know what he means.

* * *

They make love in his bed with the light off, their nightwear discarded on the floor beside the bed. Harry spends a long time exploring her skin, and is pleased when she asks his permission to do the same, running her fingers lightly from his throat, down his belly to his genitals, and then down each of his thighs. He has long dreamed of this.

When at last they come together it is an overwhelming and emotional moment, and they move together as though they've been doing this all their lives. Afterwards, once they are both again calm, they are quiet. Everything they have wanted to say to one another has already been said with their bodies.

They drift into sleep once more, her head resting on his outstretched arm.

* * *

Harry is woken by his alarm. As on every other morning, he opens his eyes in an instant, and as on every other morning, he is alone in his bed. The only indication of Ruth having been with him is the slightest scent of her perfume on the pillow beside him, an ache in his upper right arm where her head had rested as she slept, and of course, the looseness of his body, and the memory of her naked skin beneath his fingers. He checks his phone to find it is five-thirty, and he has no messages.

She's gone. Ruth has left without waking him, although to be fair to her, when she'd woken him through the night, it had provided them with the opportunity for their own personal goodbye. He rolls onto his back, sighing heavily. He is about to face his first day at work without the distraction of her presence on the Grid.

Sliding his feet into his slippers, he throws on his dressing gown without tying it, and hurries downstairs. There is no sign Ruth had even been in his house, although she'd tidied the kitchen, and rinsed their cups from the night before. Then, as he takes his fresh mug of coffee to the table, he spies it - the mug in which she'd made herself an early morning drink, and propped against it is a note.

Harry sits, and for a long moment he eyes the note - a folded sheet of paper, on which is written his name in large, bold letters. He watches the note for a long time, not wanting to open it, just in case its message is one he'd rather not read.

After no more than five minutes, he can put it off no longer. He grabs the note between his fingers, and opens it.

 _Dear Harry_ , she'd written.

 _I'm sorry if my leaving this way appears cowardly, but were I to say goodbye to you in the light of morning, I'm not sure I'd have the strength to leave. And leave I must. There is part of me longs to stay. I had thought that to set myself as bait for this man would at least flush him out, but I'll do the sensible thing, and I'll be on that plane this morning._

 _Harry, I'm not terribly good at this sort of thing, and I suspect neither are you. We are quite the pair, aren't we? How can I say such a brief goodbye after what happened between us in the early hours of this morning? I need you to know that there will not be a moment when you'll not be in my thoughts, and I look forward so much to returning to you. I just hope it won't be too long before we see one another again._

 _So this is not so much a goodbye, as it is a see you soon, I hope. Even if I am away for a long time, I will always carry you with me._

 _Ruth xx_

He tucks Ruth's note into the pocket of his dressing gown, and then rinses his mug under the tap. As reluctant as he is to be washing the scent of Ruth from his skin, he must shower before he dresses for the day. He can't allow himself to think too much about Ruth having gone, but during her absence, however long, he will have the sweet memory of their last hours together to comfort him. He needs to address the issue of the missing Mace, and he needs to begin today. He climbs the stairs with a spring in his step. There is much needs doing.


	6. Chapter 6

Tuesday 15th August 2006 - mid morning:

Harry sits at the meeting room table across from Adam and Ros. The absence of Ruth from this small gathering drives home to him that she really has gone. A part of him is waiting for her to bustle into the room, her arms laden with files and a note pad, a ready apology on her lips, along with a reason for her lateness.

"How was she?" he asks, wanting Adam to impart every last detail of her leaving.

"Quite cheerful, really," Adam replies, avoiding Harry's eyes. After all, Adam and Zaf had picked her up from the lane behind his house in the early hours, before he'd woken, so Harry is sure they've already managed to fill in the blanks.

"Did she happen to mention anything about her plans ... after Amsterdam?"

Adam shakes his head. "I didn't ask, and she didn't say. I would have thought ..."

"We didn't discuss it," Harry says quickly. He knows that Adam, Zaf, and perhaps even Ros are all aware that Ruth had spent the night with him, although none of them are about to mention that detail, at least, not in his presence.

"And there's something you need to know about Mace," Adam says, changing the subject. "We seem to have lost him."

Harry frowns as he stares across the table at his section chief. "How can you possibly lose him?"

"We've had surveillance on him ... electronic surveillance. First thing this morning Malcolm's assistant reset the server, and we've not been able to access the CCTV outside Mace's cottage since."

"Maybe it has nothing to do with the reset. Maybe the CCTV has been disabled. Maybe Mace is on the move, and doesn't want witnesses." Harry sits back, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips. "This means Malcolm will just have to begin all over again."

Ros and Adam nod. They both know that Harry is right. If Ruth is ever to be free to come home, they need to have Mace at least where they can see him.

"And there's just one other thing," Adam says carefully. "I seem to have misplaced Calvin Shadleigh."

"By misplaced, you mean ..."

"I can't raise him. Remember that while he was out of the country his work station was used for exchanging memos with Mace. He has an axe to grind."

"Maybe he'll do our dirty work for us," Ros comments, one eyebrow lifted.

"I was thinking the same thing," Adam replies. "I was also thinking that I'd like to be in on that."

Harry offers Adam a curt nod. "Then keep calling him. We need all the help we can get."

* * *

Same day - 4.24 pm

Calvin Shadleigh walks through the streets, head down. He avoids making eye contact with strangers. He never knows when someone from his past will emerge from the shadows, intent upon revenge, or even something as simple as asking a few tricky questions. Calvin has left behind him a string of people who want him dead. His problem isn't that he is a bad man. His problem has always been that he errs on the side of right, rather than taking the easy way out. He has seen some of the worst the world has to offer, and what he's borne witness to is so bad that he will never speak of it.

Calvin has only once met Oliver Mace, and then only briefly. This meeting had occurred several years ago, and Mace had sneered in his general direction, but had not looked at him .. not really. Calvin has a knack for attaching himself to the very worst of humanity, and at the last moment turning on them. It's a skill he has honed over time. While he can't say that he knows Mace, or has spent time in his presence, what Adam Carter had alluded to when they'd spoken briefly the week before had whetted his appetite. Calvin thrives on a challenge.

So he hails a taxi, and directs the driver to Mi6 Headquarters. He has phone calls to make.

* * *

Same day - 5.47 pm:

"Got a minute?" Ros Myers looks up into the clear eyes of Adam Carter. When she nods, he slides his long frame into the chair beside her work station. "I've just been privy to something I need to run by you, but Harry mustn't know."

"Is this to do with Ruth?" Ros asks, lifting one eyebrow.

"Only indirectly. I've just been contacted by that former CIA-turned-Mi6 agent. He wants to take out a hit on Oliver Mace."

Ros stares at Adam. "And why would he want Oliver dead?"

"I asked him the same thing. He said that his good reputation," and Adam uses air quotes for the words, `good reputation', "has been besmirched - his word - by the actions of those in Mace's office, when they hijacked his work station. My question to you is do you think we should allow him to go ahead?"

"Isn't ... death rather an extreme punishment for what amounts to simple hacking?" Ros asks.

"Don't let Harry hear you say that. This `simple hacking' has resulted in Ruth having to go into hiding."

"True, but Shadleigh has to find him first."

"Vauxhall Cross's resources are better than ours by far."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Ros says.

"I have no intention of spreading the word, and if Shadleigh is successful, I'll act surprised ... as, I expect, will you."

"Of course."

"I have a feeling that even were I to beg Shadleigh to not go ahead with this, he'd do it anyway."

"Did he share with you his reasons?" Ros asks, and Adam shakes his head. "Then all we can do is sit and wait. Did he give you any indication when this ... murder is scheduled to take place?"

"He can't say. In two days he's due in Beirut, and he's to stay there for at least a couple of months. Unless he's contracting out the job, nothing will happen until after his return."

Ros nods. "Perhaps that's for the best. Who knows? In the meantime maybe Mace will be arrested."

For the first time since their conversation had begin, Adam smiles. "Don't hold your breath."

* * *

Tuesday 12th December 2006 - morning:

Harry listens to the morning news bulletin on his car radio. It never ceases to amaze him how the BBC can create a mountain range out of a pile of dust and a few rocks. So far, six people have been hospitalised with the virus. It is not yet an epidemic, and it's certainly not a pandemic, although to be fair, the newsreader had said: "The situation may well escalate, and the government and the security services could have a pandemic on their hands." Given all cases so far have occurred in metropolitan London, it cannot in anyone's language be called a pandemic.

When Harry's mobile phone rings, he switches off the news, and answers his phone. "Harry?" Ros's voice. "We have a problem. It's Zaf. He's been kidnapped."

"I already know that, Ros."

"Sorry. What I mean is that he's gone. The deal to get him back has failed."

"Are you in touch with Tehran?"

"We are."

"And?"

Harry waits for a long moment while Ros composes her answer. "We've been advised that given the mercenaries have not returned him, it's unlikely they will. But there's good news."

"Please. Tell me the good news."

"Adam got away during the exchange. He's ... as well as can be expected."

In the relief he feels that at least they will soon have Adam back, Harry forgets that Zaf is the only member of his team who has Ruth's contact details. It is four months since Ruth left England, and he misses her every day, and although the whereabouts of Mace is still a mystery, he remains confident that she can soon come home.

* * *

Friday 16th February 2007 - afternoon:

Cal Shadleigh has it all worked out. While he has known for three weeks now where Oliver Mace is living, the weather has not quite been bad enough to carry out his plan. He trudges across the bare fields towards the lone bungalow, Mace's home since he'd returned to the UK three weeks earlier.

He could have hunted him down in the US, but he'd not have had the benefit of the backing of the intelligence services in his home country. Chances are he'd have become the hunted, rather than the hunter, so he'd patiently waited until Mace had returned. The day is a fine but overcast February day, and with the temperature only a few degrees above freezing, he is confident he'll find Oliver home alone and in front of the fire.

Calvin has it all worked out. He'll not leave a trace. In his gloved hands he carries a bottle of top quality single malt, three-quarters full. He'll tell Oliver he keeps it in his car for emergencies. To his mind his car running out of petrol, then finding his mobile phone battery had died, together constitutes an emergency.

Mace has been called back to London for the next sitting of parliament. Chances are the man will again change residences, or leave the country. Calvin thinks it more likely he'd find the situation too distressing, and maybe even depressing, and that he'd be driven to taking his life. There'd be none of the messiness of a gun shot wound to the head for Oliver. Everyone will agree that he'd be more likely to poison himself, so Calvin is actually doing the man a favour.

That's the way he's begun to think of this act, and for him, that's the way it will be. No-one will be able to convince him that he's acted out of order. To his mind he's cleaning up the dross, the scum of society. He's like a rat-catcher, only of humans.

So when he knocks on the front door of the bungalow, and the door is opened by the tall, balding man with thin lips, Calvin believes himself to be a cross between The Lone Ranger and a member of Social Services. He has arrived on his doorstep to put this poor man out of his misery.

* * *

Tuesday 20th February 2007 - late afternoon:

The news of Oliver Mace's suicide takes another four days to reach the official news outlets, although by then Adam, Ros and Harry already know. Harry had known Oliver well enough to believe that, like the cockroaches, the man would be cunning enough to survive the very worst nuclear winter. He was not one to take his own life, although stranger things have happened.

"Is it official?" he'd asked Adam, who had swallowed before answering, and then in his best calm voice had replied that he believes it is.

"Did you have prior knowledge of this?" Harry had then asked, all the while keeping his voice and his face calm.

"I knew it was in the pipeline, but I was not privy to the details."

"And the perpetrator?" This time, Harry raises his voice a notch.

"I believe I know who did it, but I'm not free to say. As I see it, Harry, this means Ruth can come home."

Harry nods. Ever since he'd heard the news, he'd been thinking the same thing. "Tell Malcolm I need to speak to him," Harry says curtly, using his best section head voice.

* * *

By the time Malcolm arrives at Harry's office door, Ros has left for home, and only Harry and Adam remain in the office.

"You wanted to speak to me," Malcolm says, standing across the desk from Harry.

"You've no doubt heard about Oliver Mace."

"I have," Malcolm replies soberly, "and while most deaths are tragic, I don't believe the same could be said of this one."

Harry darts a look at Adam, not wanting to be the one to raise the subject of Ruth. It has been over six months since her departure, and he wants her home. He needs to look into her eyes, and know that she still cares for him. He needs to feel her fingers on his skin. He needs her in his life - at work, and at home.

"We're wondering about Ruth," Adam says quietly, recognising his cue. "She'll be able to come home now." Both Adam and Harry notice Malcolm drop his eyes at the mention of Ruth. "Is there a problem?" Adam adds.

"Well ... yes. Until Zaf gets home, and that looks less and less likely by the week ... we have no way of contacting her."

Harry sits up straight. "Are you telling me that you have no way of accessing the phone Zaf was using to keep in touch with Ruth?"

"I am. That was the idea, Harry. If too many of us knew, then it wouldn't have been safe for Ruth. She had to appear to be gone for good."

Harry thinks that it appears to him that she very well may be gone for good. He sighs audibly. "So, Malcolm, what you're telling me is that unless Zaf comes home intact, and given he's been gone for over three months, that seems unlikely, you have no way of tracing any calls and texts between the two of them."

"I have to say - regretfully - that I kept no records of either phone, and there are no electronic tracking devices in either the phone used by Zaf, or the one Ruth took with her. There had to be no way of connecting her to us."

The guarded joy Harry has felt at the passing of Oliver Mace is fast turning into despair. He doesn't know what to say, and so he focuses his eyes on the middle of Malcolm's chest. "Thank you, Malcolm," he says with the greatest of self control. "That will be all."

After Malcolm closes the office door behind him, Harry can feel Adam's eyes on him. "What?" he says at last.

"Shouldn't we have asked him to do a search on the legend Ruth had used?"

Harry turns to Adam, his eyes hard. "I had him do that soon after Zaf was kidnapped. No joy, I'm afraid. The legend was only used to get her to Amsterdam, and it seems she continued under another name."

"So," Adam replies, "we're relying on Zaf getting home safely."

"As improbable as that is, yes, we are."

And there's nothing more to be said. Harry has a brief thought that both of them - he and Adam - now share something in common. They have both lost the women they love.


	7. Chapter 7

Wednesday 30th May 2007 - mid afternoon:

2007 is not shaping up to be a good year for Harry, but when Zaf Younis' remains turn up in London, it is a dark day. And then when a DNA test of the remains confirms that the mass of burnt flesh is, or had been Zaf, then Harry sinks into a deep chasm of self loathing and despair. He goes through all the `what ifs' as though identifying the exact moment when he had made a poor call could miraculously reverse the damage done. When he has been through every option, every decision, every meeting during which he had barked orders to members of his team, nothing changes. Zaf is still dead.

Harry has been relying upon junior analysts backed up by the analysis available from GCHQ, but he cannot continue to operate in this way. He needs a full time senior intelligence analyst. Deep inside himself, he acknowledges that what he really needs is Ruth. Having not had word of her now for nine months, she could be anywhere in the world. She may even have met someone else. Harry thinks it very likely that she's met someone else. She's young, intelligent, vibrant and beautiful. He'd be surprised had she not met another man, a man closer to her age, a man who suits her more than him, a man by whose association she will no longer have to suddenly leave her life behind her.

So, very reluctantly, Harry admits to himself that he should hire another senior analyst. It's probable that Connie James could fill Ruth's shoes, but every time he commits to calling to offer her the position, something stops him. He just can't do it. No-one, not even Connie, can fill Ruth's shoes. He will continue as before, relying on what limited resources are available to him. He relies heavily on Malcolm and his small team, and in the most difficult of times he relies on the analysts at GCHQ.

Harry lifts his eyes to gaze through the large window at his team, now reduced even further. Ben Kaplan is out with Adam, and Ros is seeing an asset, but Jo appears to be busy at her work station, eyes on her monitor. He could creep up without her seeing, but that wouldn't be fair. He calls her desk phone.

"Harry?"

"Can you come to my office ... now."

Not for the first time, Harry notices how gaunt Jo has become - gaunt and haunted. She has had to endure so much, and for that he feels terribly sad. The death of Zaf has hit her harder than most. "Sit," he says, pointing to the chair across from his own.

He waits until she appears comfortable. It is almost four weeks since Zaf's remains had been returned, and Harry hopes it is not too soon to be raising the subject of Zaf's contact with Ruth. Jo, however, is already ahead of him. "If this is about the phone Zaf had for keeping contact with Ruth ..." Harry nods, relieved that he is not having to raise the subject with her. "I've looked everywhere in the flat - every drawer and cupboard - and it's not there. I can only assume it was on him when he was kidnapped."

"So you don't know for sure that he took it with him to Tehran."

Jo shakes her head. "I've no idea. At the time he left he was preoccupied, and I was busy. We barely had time to say goodbye."

When Jo drops her head, Harry gives her a moment. As bad as he feels for putting his need for information about Ruth ahead of Jo's need for privacy, he can't allow such feelings to dominate. "I don't wish for Ruth to be another senseless loss from our team."

"I can't allow myself to believe Zaf's death is senseless," Jo says quietly, her large eyes holding his. "I'm still trying to weave a story around his death which ... makes sense."

Harry nods. He won't get any more from Jo. It's not fair of him to be pushing her.

"But ..." she adds, "if you like, I can take a closer look. There are a few places it could be. I didn't look under the floor coverings, or in the ceiling space."

"Thank you, Jo. I'd appreciate that."

"I miss her too, Harry," Jo says, as she stands in preparation to leave his office.

* * *

Less than an hour after Jo had left his office Harry receives a call from Lester Simms, a Personnel Officer at GCHQ. The news this man has for him should make Harry happy, even relieved, but he can't believe that Simms' offer of one of their intelligence analysts on short term contract has been made from a place of benevolence.

"She's the best we have, so we'd like her back," Simms says, an odd tone in his voice.

"So, if she's your best, why would you give her to us?"

"She should be there in an hour or so," is all Simms says.

"I suppose I should thank you for this, Lester," Harry says, before ending the call.

Privately, Lester thinks Harry Pearce is a paranoid bastard, while Harry wonders why, when the section has been short of a senior analyst for over nine months, they have waited this long to foist one upon them.

* * *

Almost two hours later Harry hears a sharp rap on his door, and looks up to see a smartly dressed woman, her straight, dark hair cut in a geometric bob, a brief case in one hand, her dark eyes trained on him. Harry stands, and forcing a smile, he reaches out to shake her hand.

"Ava Starke," says the woman, holding Harry's eyes.

"Harry Pearce."

"I know. Your reputation precedes you."

 _A smart arse. Just what I need._

Once he has summarised the section's current focus (which this woman seems to already know in some detail), Harry shows her to her work station - Ruth's work station - and along the way introduces her to Jo and Ros, both of whom greet her with contained politeness.

At six o'clock, Ava Starke again knocks on Harry's office door to announce her departure for the day. Her brief case is again in her hand, and her clothing still immaculate, as though she'd worked while standing up. "There's lots to do," she says, "so I'll be making an early start tomorrow."

Harry nods, wondering how early is `an early start'. He'll be back at his desk by seven, so he hopes she won't arrive any earlier than that.

Ten minutes later, Harry looks up to see Ros at the door to his office.

"Got a minute?" she asks.

Harry nods, pushing aside the pile of threat assessments which had been provided by GCHQ, a pile which seems to get higher, and more horrific as each day passes. Ros sits, and then crosses her legs carefully.

"Is she a plant?" Ros asks, and they both know of whom she speaks.

Harry waits, watching her closely. He knows he can trust her with his life if need be. "I have to assume she is. Do we know anything about her?"

"I have Jo working on that," Ros replies, glancing out onto the Grid, where Jo is at her desk, eyes on her monitor. "I've asked her to make a dossier on the woman. I don't trust any analyst who dresses like a lawyer."

Harry smiles a slow smile. He couldn't agree more. "The timing of her arrival is strange," he muses. "Were she to be looking to connect us to Oliver's sudden demise, then why mingle with us shoulder to shoulder? It's not as though any of us is likely to get close to her. I need you to keep an eye on her, Ros."

"I already am, and I'll keep you posted."

Harry sits forward, resting his forearms on the desk. "I forgot to ask. Have all traces of Ruth been removed from her desk?"

Ros nods. "The day she left." Ros stares at Harry, a frown puckering her forehead. "Do you suspect this to be about Ruth?"

"It's possible. It could also be about me."

"Or me," Ros adds.

"Why? What have you done?"

"What haven't I done?" Ros quips, one eyebrow raised.

Harry smiles. "I'll expect a verbal report at the end of each week."

* * *

Friday 8th June 2007 - mid afternoon:

Harry is relieved when Ava Starke arrives at seven-thirty each morning, and leaves by six each evening. She is quick and efficient, and does her job without drawing attention to herself, which is both desirable and worrying in equal measure. He finds himself watching her, just to determine whether her focus is on her job, or what goes on in the office space around her. Her contribution to morning meetings is almost as valuable as Ruth's, and the written reports which make their way to his desk are concise and organised, although he admits to himself that he misses the little notes in the margin Ruth had often penciled in as explanation or afterthought. He is still musing about his new analyst when Ros enters his office unannounced.

"Rosalind," he says, clasping his hands together on his desk.

"This is the first of my verbal reports on Ava," she says quietly, perhaps believing that the new analyst had bugged his office. "Jo hasn't found anything we can hold over her, other than a dead husband."

"Unless he died at her hand, then we don't even have that."

"He managed a construction company, rather successfully it seems. Something to do with concrete. He died in a pile-up on the M5. That was in 2002. She's lived alone since, and appears to have no social life to speak of, other than twice monthly visits to her parents, and a sister and brother-in-law."

"Mmm," Harry murmurs. Curioser and curioser. "And her work history?"

"The usual. She graduated from Cambridge in 1985, from where she was headhunted by the scouts at GCHQ. She's bright, dedicated and efficient, and she became a team leader before she turned thirty."

"And she's a widow," Harry muses.

"Is that significant, do you think?"

"I've no idea, but it may be." He waits, gazing out at the Grid before continuing. "It appears to me that apart from being several years older than Ruth, her career trajectory is similar."

This time Ros catches on. "So she's spying on the section as a whole."

Harry nods. "I think that's a fair bet."

"Then I'll keep a closer eye on her," Ros says, standing.

"Just not too close. She's bright. We don't want to give ourselves away, and before you go ... can you send Jo to me?"

* * *

When his office door slides open, Harry looks up. It appears to him that Jo Portman becomes less substantial, and more sylph-like as the days pass. It is as though, with the death of her closest friend, she is slowly joining him. Harry knows better than to mention his observations.

"Sit, Jo," he says, and she quickly sits.

"If this is about Ava, then I've -"

"It's not. We still have to watch Ava, but I need to know if you've found anything in your flat -" and when Jo begins to slowly shake her head, he stops.

"Sorry, Harry, but I've barely had time, and when I get home I only have the energy for a shower, and then bed. I'll take a look this weekend ... if I can." Jo stops, lifting her eyes from her hands to her section head. "I've been thinking about where Zaf might have hidden a phone, and ... there are a lot of places. I'll begin looking tomorrow."

Harry stands, walking around his desk to her side. "Thank you, Jo. Take your time. Another week or two won't make much difference."

Jo has stood, and is watching him closely. "It will if she's in danger, Harry. We just don't know. I care about Ruth, and I know you do, too."

Feeling a surge of emotion from within his chest, Harry coughs and then swallows. "Thank you, Jo. I appreciate what you're doing."

Then with a smile which reminds him of the eager young woman she'd once been, Jo quickly leaves the office.

* * *

Tuesday 12th June 2007 - 7.24 pm:

Harry buys the second round of drinks. Ava had bought their first drinks, since, in her words: `I was the one who asked you for a drink.' He's drinking whiskey, while hers is a vodka and tonic. He still doesn't know why she'd asked him to have a drink with her, but he's eager to find out.

"We could be having this conversation in my office," he says, placing their drinks on the table before he sits.

"But I thought this less formal."

"I'm not in the habit of doing this," he says at last, refusing to rise to her bait. If she has something to say, then she'd better say it, and soon.

"I've heard that you ... like to forge close ties with your staff -"

"Only for bonding purposes. You know as well as I do that a team who respects and trusts one another is better equipped to weather a crisis."

Ava appears to chew over his words, her dark eyes cast downwards. She really is an attractive woman - an attractive enigma. Were his affections not elsewhere he still wouldn't be tempted to meddle with her. In Harry's experience, women like Ava Starke are almost always hiding something deep and complex.

"I've been watching you," she says at last, her eyes on her drink, which she swirls around, the ice clinking cleanly against the sides of the glass. When at last she lifts her eyes to his there is a softness in them, which Harry recognises as a prelude to seduction. He is immediately on his guard, his senses alert. "You're a fine leader," she says at last, "and your team members clearly trust you, despite you giving away nothing of yourself." Harry waits. She's sure to follow a comment like that with more. "I like a man who can keep his true thoughts to himself. My preference is for strong men ... leaders. My late husband was a leader." She takes a sip from her glass. "I'm wondering how your last analyst dealt with that."

"How I worked with my last analyst is none of your business."

"There's a rumour doing the rounds at GCHQ that she was much more to you than just an analyst."

"I've heard most rumours begin and end at that place, so their substance is bound to be questionable."

Ava drops her eyes, and he sees the smile on her lips. "It's just that your reputation is more than of you being a hard man, Harry." This time, when Ava looks up, her eyes are soft, her smile beckoning him. The younger Harry would likely have been drawn into her web, ignoring any consequences arising from such foolishness.

Harry knows where this conversation is headed, and he has no interest in pursuing it further. Very carefully he places his glass on the table. It is a small table, and were he so inclined he could reach across and take her hand. He has no intention of touching Ava. She holds no appeal for him. A part of him would love to remove the carefully applied makeup, muss up her hair, and put her in some casual clothes, just to see the real person beneath the caricature.

"I have little interest in idle gossip," he says at last.

"So I've noticed."

"You are an analyst, and a good one."

Ava appears to ignore his compliment, gazing into her drink. She takes her time before replying. "I learned early in my life that if you really want something, you have to get it yourself." She glances quickly at Harry, and then again drops her eyes. "I believe in what I'm doing."

"I can see that," Harry says carefully, all the while wondering where she is leading them. He suspects that she is attempting to soften him, to put him off guard.

Ava suddenly appears coy and shy. "I didn't want this assignment. I'd heard about this section, and when this job was offered to me, at first I refused. The contract was meant to have started a month ago, but no-one wanted it, especially me. Section D is seen as a ... disaster. So much happens to the operatives, and so many operations end badly." Ava lifts her eyes to his for just a moment, and he recognises this as practised modesty. "But then someone told me that you were head of section, and I just ... had to take the job. After all, you only live once."

Harry suddenly thinks that if this woman is faking it, she's good, and perhaps would be better suited to Hollywood. In the same moment as he reaches to grasp his drink, Ava Starke's hand darts out and settles over his. There is a moment - no more than an instant - when he considers going along with what she has planned for him, if only to hope for a moment of truth from her, one in which he can discover what it is she's really up to. In the following instant he reacts, removing his hand from beneath hers, while staring across the table at her, his expression giving away little. "I'm sure you're aware you've just stepped over a line, Ava."

Instantly, as though she'd been expecting his reaction, she is apologetic, quickly removing her hand. "I don't want to get you into trouble."

"And you won't," Harry replies quickly. "On the wall behind you is a CCTV camera, while over there," and he points to the fascia above the bar across the room, "is another camera. Were you to have claimed any kind of ... bad behaviour on my part, those cameras would have proven you wrong. In less than two minutes, I will leave. I don't know exactly what your game is, but I can guess. I am not a pushover. I take my job and my staff seriously, and they depend on me, and deserve my respect." Harry then stands, and closes two buttons on his jacket. "I'll expect you as usual in the morning. Goodnight," he says before he quickly turns from her, and leaves.

Out on the street, he hails a taxi, and then once settled in the back seat, he calls Ros.

"Harry," Ros says on answering, "I saw you leaving the Grid after work with Ava. What did she want?"

"I didn't hang around to find out, but I suspect she was after my body."

Harry holds his phone away from his ear while Ros laughs a little too heartily. _Bloody woman._ What he needs right now is to be able to talk to the very woman he is unable to contact.

"So she tried - unsuccessfully, I take it - to sully your reputation."

"It seems so, and in so doing, to eventually lead to the dissolution of Section D."

"Over my dead body," Ros replies.

Harry smiles into the darkened taxi. "I was hoping you'd say that."


	8. Chapter 8

Monday 18th June 2007 - morning:

The previous week had passed smoothly, and Harry had been relieved, chiefly for Ava's sake, that his interactions with her had been brief, and limitted to team meetings, and her daily delivery of threat assessments to his office. Their drink ten days earlier had not been mentioned, although Ros, and then Adam, had pumped him for details.

"I've been thinking," Ros had said to him, once she joined him in his office after the morning's team meeting, "that maybe Ava is undergoing some kind of training, and the longer I consider that possibility, the more likely it becomes."

Harry had lifted his eyes to hers, and nodded. "I'd been thinking along the same lines. Her story about taking a month to agree to do this contract just doesn't wash with me. Why wait for her to be ready, when they have so many other analysts who could have handled the assignment with one hand tied behind their back?"

"This suggests she'd been given some specific tasks, the first of which was to proposition you."

Harry nods slowly. "For a woman who looks like she does, she made a right mess of it."

"She's newly widowed, Harry. Maybe she's just out of practise."

"Maybe she just doesn't fancy me."

"As improbable as that sounds," Ros replies, "I suspect that's true, which is perhaps why she ... struggled. I dug up a photo of her late husband. He resembled a young Robert De Niro."

"And I don't."

"I'll not honour that comment by replying. At least there's one women in the world who finds you attractive."

"It might surprise you to know that there have been more than one."

Hearing a polite cough, they had both looked up to see Malcolm standing just inside the open doorway. "Harry, if you have a minute. You can stay if you wish, Ros," Malcolm had said, quickly for him, as he stepped towards them both, stopping to place some papers on the far corner of Harry's desk.

"Is this about our new analyst?" Harry had asked, and Malcolm had nodded.

"At your behest, Harry, I've intercepted some emails ... messages between her work station and a computer at GCHQ, the user name of which is Horus. The messages are firstly coded, and then encrypted. I have had to decipher them, and then assess the code used. Unfortunately, it's not one with which I'm familiar, which is not unusual, given GCHQ are creating new codes all the time, and not sharing them with the likes of us."

"Do you have any idea about the nature of the messages," Ros had asked.

"Without the interpretation codes, that's impossible to determine, but I have come up with an idea." Malcolm watches Harry, and when he receives a sight nod to continue, he outlines his idea. "The name, Horus, is a give a way."

"Clearly someone has delusions about their status," Ros murmurs.

"I agree. It's just that I've heard ... and I can't say from where exactly without divulging my source .."

"Go on, Malcolm," Harry says impatiently.

"There's a program in GCHQ, one which is meant to be off the books, where some of the more stellar analysts are given extra training as hackers."

"That's not exactly news," Ros says.

"No, but the program has widened to include such analysts being given short term contracts in sections where it is suspected that information is being hidden."

"Of course information is hidden," Harry says, with rising irritation. "We can't be advertising what we know in the national newspapers."

"There have been instances where section heads and chiefs have kept certain sensitive information from their ... immediate superiors, leaving them free to act covertly."

This time, Harry appears quiet and contemplative. "So, Ava Starke is either trying out techniques on me as field practice, or her ultimate aim is to get into my ... good books, so that one evening she could hack into the private files on my system."

Malcolm nods. "And report back to this Horus."

Harry sighs. Not for the first time that day, he wishes he was free to speak to Ruth. "Then we all need to watch her closely," he says at last. "What's known by us all is already known by GCHQ," Ros says, "but I'd be putting an alarm on your system, Harry," Ros says.

"I can set it up with extra passwords if you like," Malcolm says.

"Which I will promptly forget," Harry says, "but thank you for the offer, Malcolm. I suggest we all use the eyes on the backs of our heads," Harry adds, and his tone suggests that the discussion is over for now.

Just as Harry finishes speaking, there is a quiet knock on the door, and being the one closest to the door, Malcolm hurries to open it. Ava is standing there, her eyes passing from Malcolm, to Ros, and then to Harry.

"I thought I should tell you that Jo is late. She normally gets here around eight, and it's now almost ten."

"Have you tried ringing her?" Harry asks curtly.

"Several times, but there's no answer."

"Thank you, Ava. I'll look into it." Harry tips his head for Malcolm to leave before turning back to Ros. "I wonder has she cracked up at last," he says quietly.

"If you mean she's having a breakdown, then I think that's quite likely."

* * *

But Jo isn't undergoing an unravelling. A little over a half hour later she bursts onto the Grid, and heads directly for Harry's office, but the office is empty. She looks around the space, seeing no clues to his whereabouts. She glances out at the Grid to see Ros gesturing to her.

"Do you know where he is?" Jo asks once she reaches Ros's desk.

"Try the roof. He goes there when he needs to think, or when he's troubled."

Jo nods. She already knows about the roof balcony, so she hurries up the stairs. She opens the door to the balcony to find Harry standing at the balustrade, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his trousers.

"Harry?" she says, announcing herself. At the sound of her voice he half turns his head, but doesn't turn around. "I think I have good news," she adds.

At the words, `good news', Harry turns, one eyebrow lifted. "You _think_ you have good news?"

Jo smiles, and steps beside him. She can see why he likes this spot. It's remote, there is plenty to look at, and there's minimal chance of being interrupted. She briefly wonders did Ruth and Harry meet up here. Is this where they conducted their romance? It wouldn't surprise her.

"I bring good news." Then she plunges her hand into her bag, and brings out a mobile phone and a changer. She thrusts the two items towards Harry. "I believe this is what you are after. I began searching in all the unlikely places in the flat. I found this beneath the linoleum in the pantry cupboard. I had to remove a piece of floorboard to get at it."

Harry turns the phone over in his hand, and then he wakes it up. "It's charged," he says.

"That's the reason I was late this morning, and I just ... lost track of time."

Jo watches Harry as he opens the contacts list, to find just one number listed. "This is the phone," he says quietly, "isn't it?"

"I'd say so. Unless Zaf had a phone for something else, this is the one."

Jo moves as if to leave the balcony, but Harry reaches out with one hand, placing his fingers on her forearm. "Thank you, Jo. I know it was a lot to ask of you ... especially now."

Jo smiles into his eyes, and just for a moment she appears like the old Jo, before she'd been changed by her job. Just for a moment the haunted look fades. "I want her back too, Harry, and despite what has happened to ... I'd like her back here ... with us. Like you, I miss her."

Harry nods, part thanks, part acknowledgement. "I know you do," then he drops his hand so that she can leave.

* * *

Monday 18th June 2007 - early evening:

Harry waits until he is home before he makes the call. He hadn't even asked Jo whether Zaf had told her anything about Ruth's life in exile. Part of him is curious, while another part dreads learning how she has managed on her own, being thrown together with strangers in strange lands. He is sitting in his favourite armchair in his living room, a glass of single malt on the small table beside his chair. Given it is a mild night, he has removed his jacket and tie, and rolled his shirtsleeves to his elbows.

He has procrastinated now for almost thirty minutes, and as much as he longs to hear her voice, he dreads the possibility that she may not want to come home. So, forcing himself to open the phone and press the one number in the contacts list, he then holds the phone to his ear. It is answered after seven rings, an interminable time, during which Harry has imagined every possible obstacle to Ruth returning to London. She might be happy to stay where she is. She could have met someone, someone from whom she doesn't wish to be parted. God, she may even have had a child. On the morning she'd left they had shared an intimacy he'll remember for as long as he lives, and such an unprotected intimacy could have resulted in a child.

"Zaf?"

Just that one word, spoken in Ruth's familiar voice, has Harry panicking. How is he to explain to her why he is calling her, and not Zaf?

"No. It's Harry," he says, desperately hiding his joy that she is alive and well.

"Harry -" she replies, and he detects a softening in her tone. "Why isn't Zaf calling? Something's happened ... hasn't it?"

"Something has, yes. Ruth ... it's safe for you to come home."

Harry waits for what seems like a very long time for Ruth's reply, and then he hears it. Ruth is sobbing, but whether from joy or sadness, he can't tell. "How soon can I come home?" she asks, once she has calmed.

Harry relaxes, leaning back in his chair. Surely were she reluctant to return home she wouldn't be asking that question.


	9. Chapter 9

Friday 22nd June - 2007 - afternoon:

Malcolm doesn't enjoy being in the field. He is happiest when sitting in front of a computer screen - or screens, he's not fussy how many. He'd far rather be scanning data and interpreting the trends than almost anything else. It's people he finds difficult to interpret and decode, although he is at the airport to greet one of the nicest people he's ever known, a woman he has missed these past ten months or more.

The gossip around the Grid - chiefly from Jo - is that Harry is the one who has missed Ruth the most. Malcolm is certain that's true, but it's not his place to engage in gossip .. not any more. He has learned his lesson. Even Ava, whom he quite likes, is off limits where gossip is concerned. They are all wary of her, as is he, but he believes that beneath the makeup and smart clothes, Ava Starke is quite fragile. Malcolm is aware that she'd been widowed only months before she'd turned forty, so he understands the deep sadness in her eyes. But her sadness is accompanied by a nervousness, which has him believing that she is still working hard to prove herself to others. He'll miss her when she leaves, but nowhere near as much as he's missed Ruth.

Then he sees her. Dressed in a pale blue dress, she slowly walks towards him, her eyes scanning the people waiting just outside the gates. He is about to lift his hand when she sees him. To her credit her eyes are welcoming, and any disappointment she feels remains hidden. Even when being met from an international flight, her professionalism shines. It is Ruth who touches him first. Malcolm is not skilled in the protocol of touching between the sexes. Ruth grasps his arm with her hand, while he reaches out to take her carry-on bag from her other hand.

"I'm so happy to be home," she says, smiling into his eyes.

Malcolm himself is using a whole week's quota of smiles on Ruth. "It's so good to see you," he says. "Harry will be happy to see you."

"I hope so. I'm guessing he has a meeting."

Malcolm nods. "Emergency JIC." Ruth makes a face. "He couldn't get out of it," Malcolm adds.

* * *

Ruth spends her first hour alone in her house just wandering from room to room, examining her things, which Malcolm had told her had been packed away while she'd been gone. She slides her fingertips over small ornaments on shelves, and along the spines of her books.

"Harry had your possessions put in storage until yesterday," Malcolm had said.

He'd added that his mother had grown fond of the cats, and would be sad to part with them, and without thinking about it, she'd replied, "Then your mother should keep them. She's home during the day, and I'm not. The little one, especially, requires attention than I can give him."

So she's alone in her house - a house filled with so many memories - and yet it doesn't yet feel quite like home. She'd spent most of her time away staying with her friend, Ellie, in Cologne, Germany. Ellie had married soon after leaving university, and her German husband had provided her with a fine house, and two children. Ruth had worked in the office of Gunther's business, where he assembled automotive computer components which had been manufactured elsewhere, but after six months, and not having heard from Zaf for some time, she'd decided she needed to move on.

Ruth is standing at her cooker, stirring the sauce she'd made for the pasta, recognising that she'd made enough sauce for two or three people, or enough for her and Harry. She has missed him terribly - his strength, his solid presence, as well as his many flaws. She thinks of the nights she'd lain awake wondering was he lying in bed, or sitting by the fire, thinking of her. She has never regretted the risk she'd taken the night before she left London, when she'd turned up unannounced at Harry's back door, asking to be let inside. The events of that night had given her an enduring and loving memory of him, one she'd spent ten months hoping could soon be repeated. She has missed him more than she'd expected, and she wonders has he missed her. Malcolm had avoided saying any more about Harry, but Malcolm is loyal and discreet, and she's sure he'd not betray her and Harry again.

She has just poured herself a half glass of red wine when her house phone rings.

"Do you feel like company?" The voice she hears is deep and resonant. He has no need to identify himself. After all, throughout their long separation she has heard his voice in her imagination, and would recognise it if spoken at a whisper from across a crowded room.

"Have you eaten?" Ruth asks.

"Not yet. I thought I might pick up a takeaway."

"I've made enough ravioli for at least four people," Ruth replies, "and I have wine."

* * *

As much as he longs to see her, Harry is nervous. He'd been at home when he'd rung her, and so had still to shower and change. He has not brought with him a change of clothes. As much as he'd like to spend the night with Ruth, he doesn't expect that to happen. They will first need to become reacquainted, and for them, such a process may take days, even weeks.

When the door opens, Ruth stands in the half light, her face framed by her hair, now a little longer than before she'd left. When she lifts her eyes to his, Harry almost loses composure. He has missed her face; he has missed her eyes; he has missed _her._ He quickly closes the door behind him, and then reaches out to grasp one of her hands in his. Ruth lifts her face, and he leans down to kiss her. It is not a kiss which says, _which way to the bedroom?_ It is a _I'm so happy to see you_ kiss. He sighs against her mouth, and she sighs back. Her lips are soft, just as he remembers, and he feels her other hand inch its way around his waist. He wears slacks and a shirt, with no jacket, so her fingers against the material of his shirt are warm as they press against the muscles of his back. When he pulls away from her, he is pleased to see disappointment, and even objection in her eyes. They have already waited so long; another few hours, or even days will not hurt them.

* * *

They sit at Ruth's kitchen table, the pots and pans and such piled on the sink behind Ruth's shoulder. Harry makes a mental note to offer to wash the dishes once they finish dinner. When Ruth asks, Harry tells her everything he knows about the deaths of Zaf and Mace. She takes the news with quiet dignity, and after sitting silently for some time, says, "I knew he'd died. There was no other explanation for him not keeping in touch. I think I knew. I even cried, but at the time I believed I was crying for us, afraid that it might be years before we'd meet again."

Harry leans back in his chair and watches Ruth's face while she tells him about her life while away, her months in Germany, and then the remaining time she'd spent in Italy, and then Greece. He could sit in this chair, watching her for hours. It is only when she says his name that he realises she's stopped speaking.

"Where were you just then?" He feels himself colouring as he fights to remain calm. "I know what you were thinking," she says coyly, "and I think we at least need to get to know one another again, Harry."

"Did you leave anyone back there?"

"Do you mean a man ... a lover?"

He nods, curious, but not wanting an answer. He watches while Ruth drops her eyes, and he is patient while she carefully chooses her words. "Ruth?"

"He wasn't a lover. I met him while he was visiting his late wife's brother and sister-in-law in Kalamaria. I found work there, which is a long story in itself, but I was sitting in a beach side cafe, when George asked could he join me. He looked nice enough, and he was accompanied by his young son, so I felt quite safe in his presence. He only had two weeks in Kalamaria before returning to Cyprus, so we met most days, and we talked. We found we liked one another, and I enjoyed his son's company, and then on the day before he was to return home he invited me to accompany him to Cyprus." Ruth lifts her eyes to meet his. Harry is watching her every move, every nuance for some sign that she is keeping something from him. "He needed someone to care for Nico, who is only eight. It's only two years since the boy's mother had died." Ruth stops speaking while she sips her wine. "George needed someone to live in his house, and care for Nico."

"Like a housekeeper?"

"Yes, but I'd have enough free time during the day had I wanted to find work in Paphos. So ... George had taken me to lunch, and offered me the job of caring for his son. I was seriously considering his offer, and then on the evening of that very day my safe phone rang, and it wasn't Zaf, it was you. Of course, once I'd spoken to you, accompanying George and Nico to Cyprus was out of the question."

Harry feels his shoulders relaxing. "And you were not involved with this man?"

"No, although I detected interest .. on his part. He was charming, and witty, and good company, but he just wasn't ..."

Harry wishes Ruth had finished her sentence, but he knew what she'd not been able to say. All in all, he feels lucky, and he admits to himself that there are times when the finger of fate can be a wonderful thing.

* * *

Harry has finished eating, and Ruth has topped up their wine, having stacked their dirty dishes on the sink. "I can sort these in the morning," she says, before returning to her chair at the table.

He hasn't yet mentioned work, and Ruth hasn't asked, but he knows he needs to raise the subject with her. The detectable level of discomfort which had sat between them as Ruth had told Harry about George and his son has lifted, lightening them both.

"Will you want to return to work soon, Ruth?"

Ruth has been tipping her wine glass from side to side, and Harry has been watching her, waiting for the wine to spill onto the tablecloth. When he mentions work, she lifts her gaze to him. "You've not yet hired someone to replace me?" she says at last. "You can hardly have managed for ten months without a senior analyst."

"We did until three and a half weeks ago."

"What changed?"

This time it's Harry who hesitates. He takes a large gulp of his wine, carefully placing the glass back on the table. "GCHQ _suggested_ they send one of theirs to us on contract."

"That sounds like an order."

"Not an order," he says, "but more like a strong recommendation. Ava Starke. Do you know her?" Ruth shakes her head. "I believe she was sent to us to spy on me."

"On _you_? Why? Wouldn't she be spying on the whole section?"

"She has already ... singled me out as her ... target."

Ruth's eyes widen, as she sits up straight. "She _hit_ on you?"

Harry tips his head from one side to the other. "Maybe `hit on' is a bit strong. She showed definite interest."

"You're an attractive man, Harry."

"She told me she likes powerful men."

For a long moment Ruth watches him. "If you're sure she's not after you for your body ..."

"I'm sure."

"... then it's possible she's after your work station."

"That's not terribly flattering, Ruth."

"I wasn't aiming to flatter you. There's this technology, which I'm sure Malcolm can tell you more about. If your analyst wanted access to your work station, she could begin by trying to get you into bed, to ... soften you."

"She'd have had to tie me down, Ruth. She doesn't appeal to me at all - not in that way, although she's a fine analyst."

"As good as me?"

"Not quite," he says.

Suddenly Ruth stands, and turns towards the sink. "Perhaps I ought to tidy this mess," she says, and Harry detects weariness in her voice.

Harry gets up, and quickly moves to stand behind her. They have talked enough about Ava Starke. They can discuss her some other time. This is their time. They have waited ten months for this. He steps close enough to her to slide his arms around her waist, resting his hands lightly over her stomach. His touch is gentle, and despite a powerful urge to do so, he doesn't press his body against her. He waits, and his patience is rewarded. Ruth turns within the circle of his arms, and slides her hands across his shoulders, and then around his neck, before pressing her body against his. He turns his face so that his nose is buried in her hair. It is when he feels her lips pressing soft kisses against his neck that he sighs heavily, letting go of the deep loneliness, and the fear that he'd lost her. They hold one another for a long time, his hands pressed against her back, her fingers sliding up his neck, and then into his hair. Once he detects Ruth's body has relaxed, he begins to slowly withdraw from her embrace. He presses a kiss against her cheek before stepping back, and grasping her hands in his.

"I'll clean up here," he says quietly, "while you go into the living room and rest." She opens her mouth to protest, so he places a finger against her lips. "Please don't argue, Ruth," and she doesn't. She watches him closely before turning from him, and leaving the room.

* * *

The kitchen is clean, and Harry has found a place for the pots and plates and cutlery. He hopes Ruth can find everything when next she needs them. He follows the sound of the TV into the living room, where Ruth lies stretched out on the sofa, sound asleep, her cheek resting against a pile of cushions. He is about to reach down to kiss her awake, but stops himself. She is tired, he is tired, and they have so much more to talk about, but tonight is not the right time. He looks around the room until he sees a blanket draped over a wicker basket, so he takes the blanket and gently tucks it around her, turns off the TV, and then the main light. A small table lamp beside the sofa provides enough illumination should she wake during the night.

Rather than leave straight away, Harry finds a note pad beside the house phone, so he rips off a couple of blank sheets. Just as she had done before she'd had to leave London, he will leave her a note.

 _Dear Ruth_ , he writes.

 _Please forgive my slinking off without saying goodnight. You appeared so peaceful, I didn't want to wake you. Seeing you again is a joy I barely have the words to express. I have missed you more than I can say, and I hope we can soon spend some time together away from work._

 _And so to the issue of my new analyst. I would like you back at work, if that is your wish also, but first there's the business of what Ava Starke is up to. I'll call you tomorrow to arrange for you to come into work some time soon, and hopefully uncover why she had shown such an odd interest in me. Until then .._

 _Love,_

 _Harry x_

Then, he takes a clean coffee mug, and places it in the middle of the table. When Ruth next enters the kitchen she will see the note propped against the mug. When he lets himself out of the house, he gently pulls the door closed behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

Saturday 23rd June - 2007 - midday:

Ruth had woken to the sound of a dog barking, and had opened her eyes, wondering had she already moved to Cyprus. Her bedroom was warm, and the sun's rays winked through a gap in her curtains. Then she'd remembered - waking at midnight, annoyed that Harry had left without saying goodnight, but pleased that he'd thought to cover her with a blanket. She'd wandered into the kitchen to find it tidy, far tidier than she ever left it, the dishes done, and put away. Then the note propped against the mug on the table caught her eye, and she'd read it, the ` _love Harry x'_ at the end bringing a smile to her lips, along with an instant surge of warmth. She'd been tempted to ring him then, but not knowing how long it had been since he'd left, that wouldn't have been fair. He said he'd call her today, and knowing Harry, he will.

She'd spent the morning doing a load of washing, and then sorting through her possessions, deciding what to keep, and what could be donated to Oxfam. By lunchtime, a pile of clothes and books cover the floor in one corner of her bedroom. She'll deal with their disposal another day. For now, she wants to think about Harry, and where they appear to be headed, and how she really feels about that.

He is a continual source of surprise. The man who had intrigued her, but left her wary when first she'd joined the section had proven over and over that there was another side to Harry Pearce. He'd already demonstrated his loyalty and his moral strength; Harry never backed down from a challenge, and there were times when he wore his heart on his sleeve. That he'd remained true to her throughout her time away had surprised her. She'd half expected him to have moved on, or at least gone off her; after all, it could be said that trouble follows her, and the very last thing Harry needs is more trouble. It is as though Harry can see right inside her to the person she really is, just as she has grown to care for the man beneath the suit, the man who is just a man, and not a section head. When he'd arrived at her door the evening before, no-one was happier than Ruth that his face, his expression on seeing her again had reflected her own joy at being reunited with him.

Where do they go from here? Ruth would like to think that they are wading in the shallow waters of a burgeoning relationship. It's clear that Harry is already in love with her, and when she is lying in bed alone, emptying her mind of all the many complications in her life, both real and imagined, the truth which remains is that she also loves him. The realisation, and then acknowledgement of that particular truth is at once both exciting and terrifying. A proper relationship! Ruth has never had one of those. She's had crushes and obsessions and short-term passions, but nothing has lasted more than a few weeks, other than Tim Winchester, who had occupied her mind for months, and her bed for almost six weeks. That was before he'd returned to his long-time girlfriend, and last she'd heard, he'd married her.

No one man had kept her interested for years, as had Harry. He is more than a passing fancy, and so much more than a deep crush. He is her love, and she has remained true to him, just as he has to her, so she'd best not mess it up by giving in to jealousy or paralysing fear.

* * *

Saturday 23rd June - 2007 - 2.09 pm:

"Is this about Mace?" Harry asks, lifting his eyes from the grey water which flows beneath the bridge to the face of his companion. Roger Brook is one of the few members of the JIC to have joined him in opposing Oliver Mace's proposal supporting the torture of terror suspects, but even the most open and honest of men can be bought. Roger is a section head at Six - a minor player, but significant enough to be on the Committee.

"Not this time," Roger says, before he begins coughing. Roger is a smoker, and on arriving at their meeting place, he'd moaned about having a bad cold. Tucking a handkerchief back in his jacket pocket, Roger turns to Harry.

Harry stares at the man. As JIC members go, Roger is one of the more trustworthy ones. When he speaks, it is usually the truth ... or something approaching the truth. "You mentioned something about my new analyst," Harry says, needing to hurry the meeting along. He still hasn't called Ruth, and being a man of his word - at least with her - he needs to call her, and soon.

"Not her specifically, Harry," Roger says, before turning away and covering his mouth while he has a coughing fit. Harry is not good with the unwell. He's terrible when he is sick, but when others are ill, he can't help but think of coffins and hearses. When Roger calms he turns back to Harry. "Sorry. I should have stayed in bed, but I thought this important enough to meet you and tell you face to face. The young woman working in your section is not the only one being trained to spy on various sections ... the ones with a questionable history - like yours and mine."

"By `spying' you mean exchanging pillow talk with the section head," Harry offers.

"Not necessarily. Few of us are gullible enough to fall for that any more. You have to get with the program, Harry. Guns and sex are old school. The future is digital. This new breed of analysts come packing superior hacking skills."

"Such as?"

"Three months ago my section was two analysts down. One had resigned, while another was about to take maternity leave. GCHQ sent me a sharp young man dressed in a suit, and he seemed honest and efficient - just what I needed. One day I left my office door closed, but unlocked, and he entered my office, loaded malware on to my system - it takes less than two minutes to download - and from there he was able to read all my files remotely. The particular malware used can act as a conduit to remotely add all kinds of files to my system. Fortunately my tech team were on the ball, and they run malware checks daily. Les Gadd in the basement wasn't so lucky. He had images of child porn remotely loaded to his computer. Fortunately for him, and his reputation, he discovered it almost immediately, and reported it. He faced suspension, but there were witnesses to his temporary analyst entering his office when it was unattended."

Harry listens, and nods his understanding. "I know there are forces out there who want me gone," Harry muses.

"And me," Roger says, before turning away from Harry and holding his handkerchief to his mouth to stifle a sneeze. "We hold unpopular views," he says at last, tucking his handkerchief into his trouser pocket.

"Mmm. Having a conscience, and opposing the views of the baying mob has become unpopular," Harry adds. "I suppose the lesson here is to increase security around our offices."

Roger nods. "Nothing less than fingerprint or iris recognition on the door locks."

Harry turns up his lips in disgust. "Is my section expected to fork out that kind of money just to keep one person out of my office?"

"If it means your reputation, and ultimately your job, then I'd say yes." This time Roger turns away from Harry while again he sneezes, before taking a cigarette packet from his other jacket pocket, pulling out a cigarette, and lighting it. He inhales, and then lifts his face as he exhales slowly, so that the breeze takes the smoke over his shoulder and away from Harry. "I'm sure this bloody cold is a result of my attempting to give up these things," Roger says, lifting his cigarette and gazing at it lovingly.

Harry stares at the man. He's sure he has a death wish. "Thanks for the information," he says, reaching out to shake Roger's hand. "I'll keep my office door locked," and he nods curtly to Roger, and turns towards Thames House. Once he is out of Roger's earshot, Harry takes out his phone and presses Ruth's number. He is pleased when she answers after only one ring.

* * *

Saturday 23rd June - 2007 - 6.20 pm:

"I can't remember the last time I ate here," Ruth says, gazing around the room. "And the decor has improved since 2002."

They are sitting at a table in the pub two blocks from Ruth's house. Given the night is cool and calm, they had decided to walk there. When he'd called her after meeting Roger Brook he'd promised her their second dinner.

"I'm sorry it's not somewhere more..." Harry struggles to find the right adjective.

"It's just right, Harry. This place is perfect. It's ... homey and .."

"Unpretentious," he finishes for her, and he's happy when she smiles at him from across the table.

They have finished their meal, and are sitting over a bottle of merlot. They are in no hurry, and Harry silently prays that his phone doesn't ring. When the pub begins to become noisy with patrons who are clearly hell bent on getting drunk, they quickly leave. As they step onto the pavement, Harry is thrilled when Ruth grasps his hand in hers.

"Next time I'll take you somewhere more salubrious," he says, after they pass a group of young women who are staggering towards the pub on spiky heels specifically designed to ruin spines and reputations.

"I'm happy with somewhere casual, Harry."

He looks at her quizzically. She's an odd woman. Most women he has known have encouraged him to spend money on them, but not Ruth.

"I'd be happy sitting at my kitchen table, sharing fish and chips and a bottle of wine," she says.

"I suppose it's closer to the bedroom," Harry says, immediately regretting his choice of words. "I meant, for when we get tired," he adds quickly.

Ruth squeezes his hand. "Of course you did," she says quietly.

* * *

They are sitting side by side on the sofa in Ruth's living room, and neither have yet to say anything about Harry staying the night. Ruth would like the topic to be raised by anyone but her.

"When are you planning to return to work?" Harry asks at last. When conversation becomes strained, work is always a safe subject.

Ruth turns her mug of coffee between her hands. Returning to work is a subject she's yet to give much thought. "I suppose I should soon," she says at last, noticing that Harry has finished his coffee, and has placed his empty mug on the coffee table. "I'm still getting used to being back home." She turns to look at him to find he is watching her closely, his expression one of open longing.

"I'd like you back at work as soon as you feel able, if only so I can get shot of Ava."

"Is that the only reason you want me back?"

"You know it's not."

Ruth leans forward to place her mug on the coffee table, and when she sits back, Harry has moved closer to her, so that their thighs are touching. It's hardly a subtle move on his part, but she's enjoying the warmth of his body close to her.

"Ruth," he says, and she turns towards him to see a flicker of fear in his eyes. "Would you like me to stay the night?"

Harry's question, spoken quietly and hopefully, breaks the ice. Ruth lets out an embarrassed little laugh. "I thought you'd never ask," she says. "I was afraid you'd gone off the idea."

"I'm a man, Ruth," he says. "We never go off the idea."

She stands quickly, and before one of them changes their mind, she grasps his hand in hers, and leads him from the room, up the stairs, and to the corridor outside her bedroom. "This is my room," she says unnecessarily, indicating the open doorway, through which can be seen a bed, with books piled on the bedside table.

"Are you having a clean out?" he asks, indicating the clothes and books piled in the far corner of the room.

Ruth nods, wishing she'd stored them in another room. She turns towards Harry, who leans close to her, his hands moving up and down her arms, sending a frisson of pleasure through her whole body. She doesn't want to be the one to initiate sex this time. She'd rather it were Harry's idea. Perhaps he needs something more from her. "It's alright, Harry," she says. "I want this."

"As much as I do?" He gazes down at her, his smile softening his face.

Ruth reaches up to cup his face before placing her lips on his. "Possibly more," she says, once the kiss ends.

They stand close, both gazing into the bedroom. It is an odd moment which fortunately doesn't last long. Harry grasps one of her hands and leads her through the doorway. "I don't know about you, Ruth, but I'm not getting any younger, and if we don't start soon, I might not be capable."

They are standing beside the bed, still holding hands, and Ruth looks up at Harry and frowns. "That's an odd thing to say," she says.

"Why? Stress and old age render many men impotent."

"Are you stressed?" she asks.

"I am a little, yes. We haven't done this in ten months, and we need to get it right."

"But .." Ruth is having difficulty following his thread, "didn't we do it ... _well_ last time?"

"We did it remarkably well, Ruth. I'd go as far to say that together we were magnificent."

"And you're a long way from old age."

"Nice of you to say so," he murmurs, smiling.

"I wasn't trying to compliment you. I mean it. You're still quite .. young, really."

They could stand here all night discussing his age, but that's not why they're in her bedroom, standing beside her bed. Ruth drops Harry's hand, toes off her shoes, and crawls across the bed to lie on the far side. She then reaches her hand towards him. "Care to join me?" she says.

Harry takes the hint, removing his shoes and socks, and then lying beside her, facing her. He reaches over and with one gentle, exploratory kiss, the ice is broken. Fingers find buttons and zippers, while lips and tongues seek skin. Within the chaos of clothes floating to the floor, they roll together, his belly pressed against her abdomen, her breasts finding his hands (or is it the other way around?) They kiss for a long time, passion rising, hands sliding across expanses of bare skin.

When he at last slides inside her, he groans, and she whispers, "mm, nice," into his ear.

It had taken them years to find their way to one another the first time, and ten months to come together again. "I'm never leaving you again," she breathes before she closes her eyes, losing herself in the rhythm of their lovemaking.

He hears her, but he is inside her, riding the wave. In such moments anything at all is possible, and words spoken, even in passion, will only get in the way.


	11. Chapter 11

Sunday 24th June - 2007 - 7.24 am:

Harry wakes to a feather-light touch on his cheek, which he bats away with his fingers. It's the light feminine chuckle which gives her away. He'd been dreaming about butterflies. There'd been hundreds of them, alighting on his hands and arms, and then one had settled on his cheek.

"You're not a butterfly," he mumbles, rolling towards her.

"Not today, no," she says before she finds his mouth, giving him a soft good morning kiss.

Harry rolls onto his back, and she lies across his body. What follows is a long and satisfying snog, during which he runs his hands up and down her back, discovering that beneath her dressing gown she is naked. He pulls away slowly, his eyes on her. This is what he'd been waiting for. This is why, again and again, his life has been spared. He has been given a gift - a rare and perfect gift. Ruth is his redemption.

He sighs heavily. "What time is it?"

"Seven-thirty."

He lifts himself onto one elbow, angling his head so that he can read the small digital clock beside the bed. "Jesus," he breathes, "so it is. I was planning being on the Grid by eight."

Ruth is smiling at him, one finger tracing an invisible line from his cheek, down his neck to his shoulder, and then to his bare chest. Ruth is in one of her playful moods, something he finds he enjoys about her.

He lifts one side of the duvet. "I need to take a shower," he says, beginning to slide out of bed.

"Ros rang me," Ruth says quietly, the fingers on his shoulder holding him back. "She has things under control, and she suggests that you have no need to be there, but if you insist, she suggests you wait until after midday."

Harry sits on the side of the bed, half turning to face Ruth. "I'll need to ring her."

"She said you'd say that, and she told me to tell you that the Grid will run quite nicely without you."

He glares at her, but she still smiles. He is tempted to roll her back against the pillows and make love to her. "How long ago did she ring?" he asks, hoping just this once that Ruth can't read what has been going through his mind.

"Around half an hour."

"Anything could have happened in that time."

Ruth slides closer to him, and in so doing, her dressing gown gapes at the front, giving him a clear view of one ripe breast, its nipple dark and tempting. Harry considers taking that nipple in his mouth, but he badly needs to pee, and he could do with a quick shower.

"Bathroom?" he asks. "Which way?"

"First door on the right," Ruth replies.

* * *

On returning from the bathroom, Harry finds his lover lying in bed, the top half of her naked body on display, one arm flung above her head. Her pose is hardly subtle, so he slides into bed to join her.

They make love slowly. They have hours, although Harry could never last hours. There's his bad knee and his dodgy back. Next time he'll suggest Ruth be on top. Knowing that there will be a next time, Harry smiles as he gazes at the ceiling, his body sated, his muscles spent.

"What is it?" Ruth asks. She is lying against him, one arm draped over his belly, one leg entwined with his.

"I'm just happy," he says quietly. "I'm happy we're here together, and that we no longer have to fear losing one another."

Harry feels Ruth nodding, and then the silence is broken by the ringtone of his phone. Harry sighs heavily, as Ruth reaches over to grab it.

"I'll answer it," she says. "I'll say you're still asleep."

"That won't work, I'm afraid, not if it's important."

"Harry Pearce's phone," Ruth answers, and then she listens. He watches as her expression gradually changes from gentle playfulness to seriousness, and she grabs her bottom lip between her teeth. He suspects his and Ruth's private moments together may be coming to an end for now. "He's here, Ros," she says at last, "I'll hand you over."

It is Harry's turn to listen, and what Ros tells him has him quickly ending the call, and leaving the bed to gather his clothes.

"I'd like you to come with me," Harry says, having pulled on his trunks. He turns to face her, the remainder of his clothes from the night before bunched in his hand. "I suspect we'll need your unique take on things."

"Good," Ruth says, moving off the bed to find her clothes. "I'm not about to argue with that." There is no time for showering, no time for applying makeup. Ros had intimated they should come straight in.

* * *

Sunday 24th June - 2007 - 11.04 am.

Inside the meeting room, Harry is surprised to find Adam sitting opposite Ros, along with Malcolm and Jo. Only Ben is absent.

"Should you be here?" Harry says quietly to Adam.

"My sister and her husband offered to take Wes to some fair or other at their kids' school. I arrived at work just as the story broke."

"So .." Harry says, sitting in his usual chair, "tell me how things stand at -" and his concentration is broken by the eyes of his team moving to the door. Ruth had needed to visit the loo before joining the others in the meeting room.

"Hi all," she says, a little embarrassed by the attention.

Harry's back is to her, but while Adam and Jo get to their feet to greet her, followed at a less frantic pace by Ros and Malcolm, Harry remains seated. He listens, head down, while Adam and Jo hug Ruth, each uttering welcoming words.

"I'm relieved you're here," he hears Ros saying. "We could do with someone with a clear head."

"It's good to see you back where you belong," Malcolm says quietly. "We've left you a seat next to Harry."

So, almost as though she'd never left, Ruth slides into the chair on Harry's right, offers him an apologetic glance, and then waits for him to announce that the fun is over.

"Are we ready now?" he says, and everyone nods.

* * *

"Are you absolutely certain about that?" Harry asks Malcolm, who, at Ros's suggestion, has delivered his findings.

"At my behest, soon after Ava ... made a pass at you, Adam arranged for surveillance on her flat. Nothing untoward happened until late last night, and just before midnight, she left in her car, heading south. She was followed to Folkestone, where she appears to have put her car on the Euro Shuttle. Her flat is all but empty, so it's been made to appear she won't be returning any time soon."

Malcolm's words have Harry frowning, but when Ruth speaks quietly, five sets of eyes turn to her. "What about her work station?"

"All as it should be," replies Ros, "unless you find something no-one else has managed to uncover."

Ruth sits back in her chair, mildly stunned by Ros's inference that without Ava's presence, she will be the one to step straight back into the role of senior intelligence analyst.

"But the really juicy information has been put together by Malcolm's team," Adam says, wanting the meeting to be over quickly. "Just over thirteen months ago, Ava Starke - as Anna Wilson - was seconded to the office of Oliver Mace, where she remained until Oliver skipped the country. She would have worked quite closely with him. It appears that Oliver requested her specifically. It's even possible she was the one communicating with whoever was using Calvin Shadleigh's work station as a conduit, but after all this time, it's impossible to say."

"How is it we haven't known about this earlier?" Harry asks, his tone betraying his irritation. "Didn't you do a deep search on her, Jo?"

Jo drops her eyes. "I did, Harry. The records at GCHQ showed her working there full time throughout her secondment to Mace's office. Without knowing her legend, there was no way of knowing she was somewhere else."

"So ..." Harry says at last, palms on the desk, eyes moving from one agent to the next, "why was she here ... in Section D?"

What follows is a long and awkward silence. "Perhaps ..." Ruth begins carefully, "she was hoping to get closer to you, Harry, to see if you were implicated in Oliver's death. Calling it suicide is just temporarily convenient until the real cause is uncovered. If the path to Mace's death begins in your office, then ..."

"They can get Harry out, and shut down the section," Adam says quietly.

"Or absorb it totally into another section ... or Six," Malcolm adds.

"So ..." Jo muses, "we've been watched by our own, hoping we trip up."

"That's about the extent of it," Malcolm replies. "In the meantime, I'll be maintaining electronic surveillance on customs, just in case she returns. Her leaving may be a ruse, deliberately created to have us letting down our guard. We must remain vigilant."

The room is quiet while they all consider how close the section may have come to being closed down. Harry waits for one of his team to mention how it all began - with his oversight in taking Ruth's report on certain members of the JIC supporting torture for terror suspects - but no-one does. Eventually Harry turns to Ruth. "Do you feel like starting work today?" he asks.

"I thought I already had," is her quick reply.

"If you begin now, Ruth," Adam adds, "Harry might give you an early minute."

* * *

Ruth spends the best part of the day trawling through the files on the work computer of Ava Starke, now her own work station once more. At four o'clock, she lifts her eyes to where Harry sits alone in his office, his head resting on one hand, the fingers of this hand rubbing the skin of his forehead.

Quickly and quietly Ruth approaches, and when he doesn't answer her knock, she opens the door and enters.

"I thought it time I headed home," she says, once he looks up in surprise to see her standing there. He glances towards the door, perhaps believing she'd simply materialised in his office.

"You're going home?"

"I thought I might. I've worked for five hours without a break, and I'm hungry."

Harry's face softens. "If you can wait another ten minutes or so, I'll take you home. There's no need for you to be going home alone."

"I still have to find some suitable clothes for work," she says quickly. "I haven't yet had time for shopping. I was planning to do that today, but .."

"I distracted you," he murmurs.

"You did, but you're a very welcome distraction."

Ruth watches Harry watching her. She can almost see the wheels in his mind ticking over, considering options, lining up the possibilities in a row. "Are you having second thoughts, Ruth .. about us?"

"What? No ... of course not. You ... us .. it's the best thing that's ever happened to me -"

"And me."

"I've done all I can for today. I can find nothing on Ava's computer that's shouldn't be there. There are no hidden files, and no files encrypted in code unknown to us. It's all above board, and in perfect order."

Harry nods. "She'd have been very unwise to have kept anything from her other life on our system. That would have been .."

"- foolish," Ruth finishes for him. "Can I sit?" she asks, moving towards the chair. Harry nods, sitting up straight in his chair. His expression softens as he watches her. There is still a colt-like awkwardness about her, as though she believes she doesn't quite belong in that chair, in his office. "I thought you were busy," Ruth adds.

"Not busy as such, but I'm expecting a call in -" and he consults his wristwatch, "any minute now."

"Anyone important?" she asks warily.

Harry twists his mouth to one side. "Only in his own mind. You know what section heads are like, Ruth."

Ruth slowly smiles. "I certainly do. Rulers of the Universe, every one of them." Then her expression turns from mild amusement to seriousness. "I don't want ... _this_ , what we are, what we have, to interfere with our work, Harry."

"It won't. It may even have us being more effective at work." He watches her, waiting for an objection, but there is none. His desk phone rings, and before he turns to answer it, he adds, "don't go anywhere. I won't be long."

* * *

Once his call is finishes, Harry drives Ruth home, picking up fish and chips from a chippy not far from Ruth's house.

"I won't stay over," he says, as they sit at Ruth's kitchen table, the fish and chips laid out on the table between them, along with a small bottle of vinegar, and extra salt. He watches Ruth as her eyes dart up to meet his. "I need a change of clothes, a long soak in the bath, and a shave."

Ruth nods and smiles. "Definitely a shave."

They eat in silence for several minutes, and Ruth watches him covertly, knowing there is something else on his mind, something he's been keeping from her since soon after the morning meeting. She'd noticed how distracted he was, and even worried. When at last he shares his news with her, it is unexpected.

"After the meeting this morning Adam took me aside." Ruth nods. She'd noticed, but had been keen to open her computer and begin working. "He's seen the writing on the wall."

"Meaning?"

"He told me that he's planning to leave the service ... for Wes's sake."

"Leave? As in leave forever?"

"That's what he said, yes. His words were something like, `I don't want to leave Wes to be brought up by others.'"

Ruth is stunned by the news, but not surprised. Adam adores Wes, and he wouldn't want to leave the child an orphan. "How soon is he thinking of leaving?"

"Quite soon," Harry replies. "Within weeks."


	12. Chapter 12

Friday 20th July 2007 - early morning:

Harry lies in post coital weightlessness, while beside him his lover sleeps, her face turned towards him. He watches her, amazed, thrilled that their lives have slotted together so easily. It has been only four weeks since her return, and already they have settled into a routine which suits them both. He stays over at hers at least three nights a week, and only the night before, she had intimated how much easier their lives would be were they to be living under the same roof. He agrees with her, but is prepared to wait a little longer before making changes of the permanent kind. He has become a loner, and he'll need time to adjust to sharing his living space with another, even a woman he cares about as much as he does Ruth. He had told her as much, and she'd appeared to understand.

When Harry's phone alarm sounds, Ruth stirs, and he watches her while she wakes, her eyes fluttering open before she stretches like a kitten. He reaches down to kiss her fully awake. It is when she presses her knee between his thighs that he almost loses control. It's Friday, so what would be the harm were they to arrive late to work? Probably little, but it would leave them open to being gossiped about by members of the team, and even he would rather avoid that.

"It's Adam's last day," he says, slowly and reluctantly breaking contact with her. He ignores her disapproving frown in favour of leaving the bed. "I bags first shower," he says, grabbing his dressing gown from over the back of a chair, but not before he turns to see her eyes raking down his body, from the width of his shoulders, over the expanse his chest and stomach, and at last settling on his genitals. Her enduring love of his body is one of the many joys of being with her.

"I might join you," Ruth says, watching him as he leaves the room.

She won't. Not if they plan to arrive at work on time.

* * *

It is during their drive to work that each of them begins to ever so gently peel away their personal relationship, leaving room for their professional roles. Of course, their personal relationship remains in some form, ready to be taken out when they are alone. Harry has noticed how Ruth is adapting to her role as his partner. She is no longer afraid of what others will think of her, of them, and to their credit, the team accepts them as they are, as if things have always been thus.

"I never imagined this would happen," Ruth says, after a long silence.

Harry glances towards her to see her gazing out the window on her side. If he remains silent, he knows she will continue to share her thoughts .. and she does.

"Just think," Ruth says, turning her head towards him, "you and I are a couple, and Adam is leaving the service."

Harry waits for her to say more, but that is all she has to say for now. "What you're saying is that both of these outcomes are unexpected."

"Well ... aren't they?"

"Not necessarily, Ruth. I would have thought both were inevitable."

"You certainly have tickets on yourself, Mr Pearce."

He glances at her quickly to find her eyes - deep blue and bright - turned his way. "Don't you think - in hindsight - that we are made for each other?"

This time, when he chances a quick glance at her, she is smiling. "I suppose so, but I didn't think that a year ago. I thought ..."

"What did you think?"

"I thought that we would briefly shine brightly like a star, and then just as quickly burn out. I thought ... you would quickly grow tired of me, and move on to some other young thing."

"Ruth ... surely you know by now that it's not your youth which attracts me to you, but your ... unique nature."

Ruth gives a short laugh. "So you think we'll still be driving to work together this time next year?"

"I do. Don't you?"

"I'm not yet used to the way you love me, Harry. I have to tell you it sometimes scares me."

"I know it does. I'm trying to be .. different, but alas, I fear I'm failing." He is not entirely serious, and he knows she'll read his intention. She learns quickly, and she is quickly learning about him - his mercurial moods, his occasional need for solitude, his deep love for her, his appreciation of her quiet company when he is troubled.

"I don't especially want you to be different," she says. Ruth's eyes are on the road ahead. She enjoys the drive to and from work. It is while they are cocooned in the car that they discuss work, but they also discuss _them_ , something she finds difficult, but she is slowly learning that it is safe to open up to him. She and Harry have yet to speak the words, _I love you_ to one another, but they each know they are loved by the other. Harry's love for her shines from his eyes when he gazes at her, whether it be across the kitchen table in the morning, while they are making love, or when he catches her eye during a team meeting. It is a given. Ruth knows she is loved, just as Harry knows he is loved by her; but she has seen love die, and somewhere deep inside herself she is afraid that she and Harry will not last the distance.

"No-one can offer guarantees, Ruth," he had answered, when she'd expressed to him her fears. "We are not immune to that which fractures other couples. Hopefully, we can recognise the signs, and act on it."

"If we don't make it, I'm never loving anyone again."

"Ruth ..." he had said, humour in his voice, "you are bound to outlive me, and I don't want you remaining alone. I want you to be loved, even if it's not me who is loving you."

She had found his answer strange, and she'd wondered then did he know something she didn't.

"We're here," and Harry's voice breaks her reverie. They have arrived at work. It is Adam's last day on the Grid.

* * *

Friday 20th July 2007 - 6.40 pm:

"Have you figured how you'll earn your keep once you leave the service?" Jo has had a couple of quick wines, and is already looking teary, so Ruth keeps a close eye on her ... just in case. "Do you have any other qualifications?"

Adam grins widely. "When you have my face, who needs qualifications?"

"So," Jo continues, "you're looking for work as a model or a porn star."

"Since when have you been able to read my mind, Joanna?"

Ruth detects that Jo is struggling with the loss of yet another agent. Jo must be feeling that everyone she loves is destined to leave her.

As expected, the party breaks up early, with the younger ones moving on to a nearby pub. Malcolm has already gone home, so that only Ruth, Harry and Adam remain on the Grid. They are sitting in Harry's office, each with a splash of single malt whiskey in a glass.

"Will Jo be alright, do you think?" Ruth asks.

Adam smiles. "She'll be fine by lunchtime tomorrow. She's just sad, and she doesn't want to have to think about me leaving."

Harry catches Ruth's eye, and they watch one another for a long moment. They both know how fundamentally a person can change when faced with the loss of someone they love. They each draw their focus away from the other, and back to Adam.

"What are your immediate plans?" Harry asks.

"My immediate plans are to spend some time with Wes. I might even take him away for a week or two come August. When I told him we were moving out of London, he suggested we go camping."

"You're moving out of London?" Ruth asks, surprised.

"As soon as I can. There's a small cottage for rent in the village where Fiona's parents live, and Fi's brother runs a landscaping business, so ..."

"You're going from spying to _gardening_?" Harry asks, clearly horrified. "Are you qualified?"

Adam grins across the desk to Harry. "I can wield a shovel, and push a wheelbarrow, and I'm strong ... and fit. I need to work, and I'd like to do something where I can share with my son the fruits of my labours. It doesn't have to be forever, just until Wes is a bit older."

"I understand that," Ruth says, turning to gaze at Harry, encouraging him to say something positive.

"I do, also. I think the rift between my son and I has been in part because I couldn't share my work with him. It's not easy being a parent when you've signed the Official Secrets Act." Harry drains his glass, then glances from Adam to Ruth. "Top up?" he asks of each of them, getting to his feet, and reaching out to take any glasses proffered. When both Adam and Ruth shake their heads, he sits back down.

"I'd better head home soon," Adam says, placing his empty glass on Harry's desk.

"I have a suggestion, Adam, for when you've had enough of digging holes and trimming hedges." Harry opens a drawer in his desk, and takes out a business card, leaning across his desk to slide the card towards Adam, who picks it up.

"QuinnSec?"

"That's Tom Quinn's security company, for when you're ready to get back in the saddle."

Adam slips the card into the breast pocket of his shirt. "Thanks, Harry. I don't imagine I'll need it any time soon."

"When ... _if_ you contact Tom," Harry says, "just tell him I sent you."

"Sure," Adam says lightly, and Ruth reads his tone as meaning he'll in all probability put the card in a drawer and forget about it. "We'll see one another again soon, yeah?" he adds.

"Aren't we supposed to ... you know .. not fraternise?" Ruth begins.

"No-one takes any notice of that any more," Adam replies quickly. "Sometimes the only people who understand us are other agents, past as well as present."

Ruth doesn't want to say goodbye. She would rather Adam leave while she's not looking. She drops her eyes, hoping he can't read her thoughts. "That's ... sad," she says at last, knowing it's also true. One of the reasons she and Harry are so close is because they each understand the nature of the stresses each faces daily.

"Yeah, but don't expect me to miss you all for long. I'm happy to be turning my back on a daily serving of terrorists and bombs and deception. The excitement may be addictive, but it's far from healthy."

Harry gets to his feet, walking around his desk to where Adam stands. "You know where we are, Adam. We - Ruth and I - would love to see you when you're settled. A day away from London might benefit us both."

"I have no doubt it will," Adam says, grinning as he puts out his hand to Harry, who holds it in both his while he shakes it. "And I promise to not talk about my work at all," Adam replies with a grin. Lastly, Adam hugs Ruth, but relaxes his hold on her when he feels Harry taking a step closer.

"You can let her go now, Adam," Harry says quietly.

Adam steps away from Ruth, letting his arms drop. He then nods towards them both, and strides to the door. Harry watches him leave, but Ruth can't. She knows it's likely they'll never see one another again, and that promises to catch up at some undefined time in the future are made so they can walk away from one another without falling apart.

It is only once the regular fall of Adam's footsteps in the corridor outside fade that Ruth drops back onto the chair, dropping her eyes so that Harry won't see her tears. But he has noticed, and steps close to her so that he can pull her to her feet, and draw her to him.

"At least we're able to say goodbye to him," Harry says, his mouth against her hair. "Were he to have stayed, who knows how long it would have been until he took a sniper's bullet, or was disintegrated in a bomb blast, and we'd never had been able to say our goodbyes."

Ruth pulls away a little, so that Harry's arms are still around her, but she can look him in the eye. "I don't see what difference it makes," she says. "Either way, we'll never see him again."

Harry watches her for a long moment. "I don't know. I'm thinking that you and I could join Adam and Wes on one of their camping trips."

" _Camping_?" Ruth pulls out of his grasp, turning to look for her bag. "That's hardly a romantic holiday."

"Clearly you've never shared a double sleeping bag, Ruth."

Again Harry pulls her close to him, his eyes moving over her face until they settle on her lips. He leans in, about to kiss her, when from inside the pocket of his jacket, his mobile phone rings. He hesitates, watching her, waiting for his caller to give up.

"Answer it," Ruth says at last. "It might be Adam with some last minute advice."

"On kissing?"

"I don't think you require advice on kissing," she says quietly.

Harry can't hide his smile as he takes his phone from his pocket. "Harry Pearce," he answers, his eyes still on Ruth. She watches him as he listens to his caller, his face softening before he says, "Catherine!"


	13. Chapter 13

_**A/N: This is the final chapter of this fic - more an epilogue. Thanks to everyone who has made it this far, and thanks also to followers, favouriters, and as always, those who have left reviews.**_

* * *

Friday 20th July 2007 - 8.34 pm:

Harry is in the shower when the doorbell rings. It is her house, so the ringing of her doorbell should not intimidate her, and normally it wouldn't, but on the other side of her front door stands Catherine Townsend, and Ruth knows how important are first impressions. She takes a deep breath before hurrying along the hallway to the door. She quickly opens it, and standing on the other side is Harry's daughter, little changed from the November Committee days. Observing Catherine for the first time in the flesh, Ruth can see nothing of Harry in this slim slip of a woman; not his eyes, his mouth, nor his build. She appears as delicate as Harry is solid. To be fair, her gaze is as direct as Harry's, and Ruth suspects she has an attitude to match. In her hands Catherine carries the take-away she'd promised.

Catherine smiles, transfers one bag of take-away to her left hand, and holds out her hand for Ruth to shake. "You must be Ruth. I'm Catherine." Yes, she's direct all right.

Ruth shakes the younger woman's hand, before stepping back to allow her inside. "It's good to meet you. Come through to the kitchen. Harry's in the shower." And when they reach the kitchen, "Drink? Tea, coffee, or wine?" Ruth takes the bags of food from Catherine's hands, nodding towards a chair.

"Wine, I think. It's Friday night, and I haven't seen Dad for months, so I might need ..."

".. fortification?"

Catherine nods, immediately liking this woman who, until an hour earlier, she'd not known existed. "Thanks," she says, "I'll drink whatever you have open. I'm not fussy. Wine is wine."

Ruth turns to the fridge and takes out a bottle of white wine. "White okay?" she asks, and when Catherine nods, she pours them each a glass.

When they are seated at the table, and have each taken a sip of the wine, although perhaps Catherine's sip was more of a gulp, they both choose the same moment to lift their eyes to observe the other. Catherine's gaze is direct, so Ruth allows her eyes to slide past Catherine to the wine bottle between them on the table. Ruth hasn't much of an idea where to go from here. What should she say to someone she has never met, but whose opinion of her may be forming at this very moment? This is Harry's daughter, and she's here to see her father. Ruth is a complication Catherine has only learned about earlier that same evening.

"Harry shouldn't be long," she says quickly.

"That's alright. I'm used to Dad being late," and when Ruth's lips twitch in an almost-smile, Catherine continues. "You're not what I expected," she says quietly.

"I hope that's a good thing," Ruth says, aware that Catherine is as nervous as she is.

"When Dad told me about you .. when I rang him .. I imagined you'd be different somehow." Catherine drops her eyes, a little embarrassed. "What I'm saying is that my rather narrow range of expectations have not been met, which in this case is a good thing."

"You expected someone older ... closer to Harry's age."

"That and other things. He's been single a long time."

"So ..." Ruth ventures, enjoying Catherine's blunt honesty, so like her father's, "you expected that Harry, having been single for some time, would be prepared to settle for the first lonely woman who displayed interest in him."

Catherine grins widely. "I like your honesty. I can see why my father finds you ..."

"Challenging? Bewildering? Irresistible?"

"All three, I imagine," Catherine replies, still smiling widely. "Dad has always been stimulated by a challenge."

"Was that my name being spoken?"

Both women turn to see Harry, one eyebrow raised as he stands in the doorway, both hands stuffed into the pockets of his trousers as he surveys the cosy scene in the kitchen. Catherine gets to her feet, and after a brief moment of hesitation, she hurries to him, where he engulfs her in a bear hug. Once they pull apart, each are smiling at the other. To avoid appearing like a voyeur, Ruth has opened the tubs of take-away, and is placing them on place mats in the middle of the table. By the time Catherine and Harry are seated, Ruth has put plates and an assortment of cutlery on the table between them. Then she sits on the chair beside Harry. He turns to her and winks, smiling widely.

Now that Harry has joined them, conversation flows easily, although most of the information comes from Catherine.

"You know I can't talk about my work, Catherine," Harry had reminded her when she'd made pointed comments about the state of terrorism in the UK.

"I know that. I suppose I was hoping to catch you in an unguarded moment, especially now you're ..."

"Distracted?"

Catherine grins widely. "Something like that, yes."

Catherine chatters about her work in orphanages in Palestine, and her near miss in Lebanon the year before, when she'd been following someone who had stepped on a landmine.

"It was horrific," she says. "He lost one leg below the knee, and three fingers. Had I been walking in front of him, it would have been me."

"So, you're home for good," Harry states, rather than asks.

"How long is `for good'? I have no idea. I follow the work, and my interests. I go where I'm needed."

"Your family need you, too, sweetheart," Harry says quietly, and feeling the emotion he is holding in, Ruth slides her hand under the table, and rests it on his thigh. Harry responds by covering her hand with his, and grasping her fingers before squeezing them.

Once they've eaten they move to the living room, where they have coffee. All too soon, Catherine is making `it's time I left' noises.

"It's Friday night, and pending the unexpected, Ruth and I have the weekend free."

Catherine looks at her father apologetically. "Mum's expecting me tonight. She's asked me to stay for the weekend. Besides ..." and Catherine drops her eyes, "I don't want to be getting in the way."

"You're not. You won't. Stay the night. Ruth has a spare room."

Catherine glances at Ruth, who appears to agree with Harry. "I wouldn't dream of it. Dad, you told me you and Ruth have only been together a few weeks. I couldn't possibly stay over."

"Very well," Harry says, his voice like a heavy sigh. Like her mother, Harry knows that once her mind is made up, changing it is nigh on impossible.

Ruth takes their coffee mugs into the kitchen while Harry and his daughter share a brief conversation about when they may both be free to see one another again.

"I like Ruth," Catherine says quietly, once Ruth is in the kitchen, and out of earshot. "She suits you. You suit each other. You ... fit one another."

Harry nods. "I know we do. We've known one another for over four years, and we've worked closely together for most of that time. Our personal relationship has developed naturally from the professional closeness we share."

Catherine nods. "That's the best way. I hope she stays with you, Dad."

"So do I."

* * *

They are in the habit of lying in bed at the end of the day, the light off, often holding hands beneath the duvet, while they reflect upon the day. They have already shared their impressions of Catherine's visit over a cup of cocoa, and so on this night Ruth is already drifting towards sleep when Harry speaks.

"There's something I've been waiting all night to tell you," he says, drawing her back from the edge of slumber. "My shower earlier was curtailed by a phone call from Ros."

"I really hope this is good news," Ruth mumbles, turning to face him.

"It's neither."

"Neither?"

"Neither good nor bad. It's neutral news."

"Okay, so .."

"On arriving home this evening, Adam received a call from Calvin Shadleigh, who is currently stationed in Beirut -"

"Why is he in Lebanon?" Ruth asks, although she suspects her question comes from tiredness, rather than a genuine need for an answer.

"Ros didn't say why."

"Why did Ros ring you, and not Adam, given he was the one who received the call."

"I didn't ask." Harry turns on his side to face her. "Can I just tell this story, Ruth? There'll be time for questions at the end." When Ruth nods a little sheepishly, he continues. "Shadleigh hasn't met Ava Starke -"

"This is about _Ava_?"

"Ru-uth .."

"Sorry. Please continue."

"Before leaving the UK, and possibly while she was still working on the Grid, Ava received a transfer to Six, which is why she left London in a hurry. She was needed in Lebanon to facilitate a meeting between two agents of Lebanese State Security and a rogue Mossad agent. Her real job was to assess whether the Mossad agent was genuine, and not a plant. It turns out that Ava spent much of her late teens in Israel, and was initially recruited by Mossad - when she was nineteen. It was only when she decided to go to university that she moved back here ... intent on staying."

"Was any of this in her personnel record?"

"Not a word of it. Clearly her record had been carefully laundered prior to her coming to us. She did go to university here, but she made regular trips to both Israel and Lebanon, and Shadleigh has been told that she works for both. Whether the respective intelligence agencies of Lebanon and Israel know this is not clear."

Ruth breaks eye contact for a moment while she adds the pieces that Harry hasn't mentioned. When she turns back to him, her eyes are wide. "So she's a double agent," she says quietly.

"Possibly triple, if you count us in the mix."

"And when she took you for a drink she was aiming to ... _recruit_ you?"

"We'll never know now, but if she's still alive in five years it will be a miracle."

"Of course," Ruth continues in musing mode, "Shadleigh may have been pulling Adam's leg."

"True, but from what both Adam and Ros have told me, despite appearances, Shadleigh usually tells the truth to fellow agents."

"So .." Ruth adds, "Shadleigh's keeping an eye on her?"

"Only one eye. I suspect he admires her. It's only slime like Oliver who get his back up."

When Ruth doesn't reply, Harry rolls over to face her, expecting her to have fallen asleep, but she hasn't. She is staring at the ceiling. "You told me she seemed nervous when she took you for that drink," Ruth says at last.

"I may have misinterpreted her, but that's what I detected. Why do you ask?"

"The whole taking-you-out-for-a-drink thing may have been for the express purpose of having you believe she's a rookie, when all along she's a triple agent, and has been for years."

Harry nods. "I'd been thinking the same thing."

"Why do you think her true identity was kept from you?"

"I suspect it's known to only a few people, Ruth. After all, it defeats the purpose of being a triple agent if half the intelligence community knows about it."

Ruth turns on her side to face Harry, so that their faces are close. "We live in a strange world," she says quietly.

"We do, but some things are not so strange. Some things are rather wonderful."

Ruth lifts one hand to draw his face to hers so that she can kiss him. The kiss is soft and gentle, lasting only a few moments. "Some things are," she says, not qualifying what she means.

Harry watches her for a long time. He loves her completely. His first thought in the morning and his last thought at night is of her. "And for me, also," he says quietly, reaching towards her to kiss her goodnight. This time the kiss is deeper, meaningful, and much longer than their usual goodnight kiss.

The kiss ends when Ruth yawns. She rolls onto her side and away from him, and he rolls with her, sliding his arm around her, ensuring they'll remain close during sleep. It is only once he hears her breathing deepen that he utters the words he'd not yet spoken to her. "I love you," he says.

He's sure his declaration of love has been lost to the night air, but then after a good twenty seconds he hears her say, her voice little more than a whisper. "Me too."

Harry smiles into the dark, pressing his hand against her stomach, grasping her closer to him. For the first time in many months he is content.


End file.
